


The Book series

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Series: The Hand series [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-06-29
Updated: 1998-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:12:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Methos and Duncan play for a while, but something goes wrong.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Garden and the Forbidden Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methos and Duncan play for a while, but something goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Methos, Duncan and the concept of Immortality belong to Panzer, Davis, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television. They have since been returned. Promise.
> 
> Author's note--This is the sequel to the Hand series and the first half has been previously posted (in VERY rough draft on the ROG-L. It has come a long way, since. Ellen is a great Beta and I worship her for the work she's put in on it. Olympia and Celina have also been god-parents. Thanks to everyone.

Methos opened his eyes, unable to sleep. Duncan obviously wasn't having the same problem. He could feel the gentle snores as Duncan's chest pressed against his back. He rolled over, pulling away slightly. Duncan radiated heat, and under the blankets Methos felt the sweat running off his body.

The change of position didn't help. He closed his eyes but eventually gave up trying to sleep. He detached himself from the arm around him, and carefully climbed out of bed. MacLeod didn't wake. Methos stretched, working his shoulder muscles before going into the main room to find his clothing.

It took a while to locate his jeans in the darkness. He couldn't remember the last time they'd waited for him at the foot of the bed. He wasn't complaining, but there were drawbacks to having such an energetic lover. Clothing removal immediately came to mind. Last night it hadn't been enough for MacLeod to strip off his clothing--even with the lights on it would have been a challenge to find where Duncan had flung the different garments. He finally found the jeans in the corner.

Moving to the table he took out his lap top and one of his books, and then rubbed his shoulder. He smiled when he touched a spot where Duncan had bitten him the night before. He took back all his complaints about energetic lovers. They were most certainly the best kind to have.

Two hours later he took a break. He knew that Duncan would be waking up to go for his run shortly so he didn't worry about the noise as he poured himself a bowl of cereal and took it and his lap top in front of the television. Cereal was quick, easy, and the frosting was good for a sugar rush.

MacLeod woke up, and Methos turned away from the screen long enough to watch him get into his running clothes. When the interesting parts were covered, he went back to what he was doing. He didn't look up as Duncan moved to him and kissed the top of his head. "Black seven, red six."

"Do you want to play?" he asked, letting his voice drop. He leaned back against the couch and let his head fall against Duncan's midriff. He was beginning to get a little sleepy again, but would definitely not turn down anything MacLeod wanted to start.

"I don't like playing by myself," Duncan said, but his hand dropped down and caressed behind Methos' ear. Methos turned to the touch like a baby, rubbing the back of his head against Duncan's belly. "I'll be back in an hour," Duncan said, and then turned away.

Methos slumped lower so that his head would be supported again, and then heard Duncan's intake of breath. He tried craning his head back to see what was wrong, but found out his neck wouldn't stretch that far. He half turned around.

"Methos?" Duncan asked.

"Yes?" Methos asked back.

Duncan was staring silently at the table. Methos guessed what the next question was going to be, and answered it. "I'm working on something," he said, turning back around. He changed channels until a French drama came on.

"The next time could you leave me a small space when you take a break?" Duncan asked.

Methos glanced up. Duncan couldn't be serious, could he? "You can't eat around those," he pointed out and then stood. He brought his empty dishes to the sink.

"Eat at my own table. What was I thinking?" Duncan asked, shaking his head. "Methos, you're killing me," Duncan said, shaking his head. A moment later he was the steps up and gone.

Methos heard the door slam before noticing both the amount of papers and books he had piled up on the table, and the condition of the rest of the barge. He got distracted when he worked, and hadn't even realized the shambles he had created around him. He started cleaning up after himself. It was the only apology he was willing to give, and if Duncan didn't see that then...he'd have to try something else.

 

The knock on the door two hours later startled him. He had been so immersed in his research that the interruption made him dizzy. There had been no warning. Methos answered the door and let in the two delivery men.

"Are you M. Pierson?" the first of them asked. His face strained under the weight of the mahogany desk.

Duncan, the loving bastard, had thought of everything, including a brass lamp and an ink-blotter set. Methos filled up the drawers, but left the top of the desk clear. He had some ideas that would put it to good use that night. He sat on it, testing the weight. It would do.

MacLeod never had a chance. Like a cat, Methos shifted from a boneless sprawl to full-out motion in less than a heartbeat. He gave MacLeod only enough time to step down into the main room before pouncing. A moment later he was perched on Duncan's chest pinning the Scot's wrists over his head. The grunt that came through MacLeod's clenched teeth was probably more from having his lungs forced shut than from any actual pain. At least Methos hoped so. For a moment neither one of them spoke.

"There are easier ways to say thank you," Duncan said, finally.

"And I intend on eventually showing you every one of them," Methos promised, staring down into Duncan's eyes. They were amused. Good. His opening move could have been taken wrong. He stayed in place a bit longer than was strictly necessary before he climbed off.

Standing up, Duncan moved behind him and pulled Methos' sweater off his shoulder a bit. His lips brushed lightly against the other man's skin. Methos felt Duncan's hands sliding under his shirt and across his chest. He groaned, feeling himself losing control of the situation. Damn it. MacLeod always had that effect on him.

Methos gladly scrapped his carefully planned preliminary games in favor of the much more important finale. He didn't mind too much, since finaleing with Duncan usually took all night. Later, he could vaguely remember spending a good portion of the evening with his cheek against the highly polished wood of the new desk, watching his breath fogging up the finish. They ended up together on the couch. Methos lay precariously on the edge of it, but knew Duncan would keep him from falling.

When he woke up he was in bed, though he wasn't exactly sure how or when he'd come to be there. He could hear controlled breathing coming from the main room as Duncan performed his katas. Methos cracked one eye open to check. "What time is it?" he asked.

Duncan didn't answer immediately, so Methos closed the opened eye and tried to go to back to sleep. He wasn't expecting the lug to rip off the covers. He protested wordlessly, and curled up in a small ball.

"Come for a run with me," Duncan said.

Duncan obviously had no sense of the danger he was in. Damn, his sword was too far away. It would require getting out of bed and Duncan would have won despite being dead. So...Methos tried to ignore him. When that didn't result in Duncan's immediate disappearance he buried his head further under the pillows. "I don't think so, MacLeod."

"You could use it."

"I kept up with you last night without any problems."

"Methos--"

Still attempting to hide from the Scot, Methos picked one of the pillows and threw it. It landed against something, and then heard a quick intake of breath. Duncan didn't say anything else; he simply threw the covers back over him and left. He hadn't realized there was a vase right behind where the Scot had stood. Oops.

 

When Duncan came back, Methos was in the shower. Methos waited for MacLeod to join him, but gave up when the water started to cool off.

He found Duncan staring at the un-made bed. "You couldn't have made that, could you?" Duncan asked.

Methos blinked, once. "I thought we weren't quite done with it," he said, finally.

Duncan didn't answer; he just started pulling the sheets back in place. Methos' good mood began to dwindle. It was just a pillow. MacLeod shouldn't keep so many breakable things in the barge. They were both guilty of throwing things. He shook his head and went to the kitchen to put some water on for coffee.

When Duncan came up behind him to get his own mug, Methos leaned into him encouragingly. It seemed like it was going to work into more until Duncan took a sip of the coffee Methos had made for him and promptly spat it out into the sink. "What was that?" Duncan demanded, pouring out the rest of the mug. He went through the cupboard until he found the small jar of instant coffee. "And what is this?"

"Coffee," Methos supplied, helpfully.

"How did it get on the barge?"

Was that a real question? "Through the door," Methos said, slowly, and motioned the portal. "It was in a bag. I carried it. You paid for it." The lecture was coming, and he looked around quickly for a distraction, but it was too late.

Duncan sighed, and took out the percolator. He explained, very carefully, how to make real coffee yet again. And yet again, Methos listened very carefully. Then as soon as Duncan moved away from him, he took his instant coffee and sat down in front of his lap-top.

His back was beginning to knot, but then he saw the marks his skin had left on the finish of his beautiful desk. He smiled, running a finger over it. Okay, Duncan did deserve real coffee, at least once in a while. The other man was ignoring him, but as he stood up the Scot's eyes followed his movement. "Hey, MacLeod," he said, deliberately making his voice slightly irritated.

"What?" Duncan said, exasperated. He had been cleaning the coffee machine.

Methos went to him and smiled, beautifully, "May I see your tattoo?" he asked, stepping into MacLeod's space. He lowered his eyes for a moment feigning shyness and then looked up again, grinning. "Please?"

Duncan's face softened as he lowered his sweats exposing the ornate M over his pelvic bone. Methos knelt down, tracing its lines with his lips and tongue. It was beautifully done in tawny browns so that it looked natural against the golden skin. He heard Duncan sucking air through his teeth as Methos turned to the other interesting parts of Duncan's pelvic region. He was playful as a kitten, lapping at milk for the first time. Duncan cursed, and then switched to Gaelic as he came.

Methos kissed the tattoo one more time before standing up. He grunted in surprise at the force with which Duncan grabbed him and pushed him up against the counter. The mouth on his was demanding, and Methos let Duncan probe into his mouth and work his way across his teeth.

Duncan's hands roamed Methos' jeans, but never tried to get into them. If his mouth hadn't been so busy trying to defend his breathing passage Methos might have complained, but he didn't have enough air in his lungs to voice much of a protest. Duncan's fingers were strong as they kneaded into his flesh. He broke free of the kiss to catch his breath, but miscalculated the strength needed and banged his head hard against the cupboard.

He laughed when Duncan didn't even stop to see if he was all right. Duncan only caught his eye questioningly for a moment as he continued the rubbing through his jeans. "What?" MacLeod demanded.

Methos' smile was hardly more than a snarl. "You've finally figured out that you can't injure me," he said, and then bared his teeth. "Now quit fucking around and get on with it."

Duncan didn't answer, but a moment later Methos found himself flat on his back on the kitchen floor with only a hazy idea of how he'd gotten there. Duncan was crouched over him, and Methos still had on his damned jeans. When he reached down to change that himself Duncan scooped up both his wrists and held them over Methos' head. His fingers pressed bruisingly into the sensitive vein-rich forearms, but Methos wasn't paying any attention to that as Duncan started moving against his groin.

Methos arched like the contact was electrical. He threw his head back hard, exposing his throat completely to Duncan. He went to say something but nothing came out and he forgot that he had begun the effort. Duncan's mouth was over his again, breathing his own breaths. Completely pinned against MacLeod's body, Methos could only work his throat and squeeze his eyes more tightly shut. None of his other muscles seemed to want to obey him.

When he finally came he thought he was going to pass out. Duncan kept his mouth over his, swallowing his mewing sounds. When Methos finally sank down against the floor again, Duncan got off him. Methos didn't move right away. He tried to make sure that all his joints would work the same way they had before he hit the floor.

"Methos?" Duncan finally asked.

Methos opened his eyes. He recognized the word. It was his name. "Hum?" he wasn't quite feeling up to entire words yet.

"Are you all right?"

"Hum."

Duncan stood up, offering his hand. Methos lifted his own into it, stunned at the amount of work and coordination such a simple task required. Then he was standing against the counter again.

"Do you want me to stay? I can if you want." Duncan's voice was concerned.

"Hu-uh," Methos suddenly smiled, and the relief in Duncan's eyes made him smile even more. "Duncan?" he asked, finally. English. It was all coming back to him.

"Yes?"

"You're right."

"About what?"

"After what just happened...anything you want to be right about," Methos said.

Duncan laughed and kissed him. "I'll remind you of that," he said. "I'll be back by seven."

"Go. I'll recover by then."

Methos had another shower, not quite feeling the lukewarm water, and carefully put his clothing in the hamper. Then he got dressed again, and drove down to the library to spend his day trying track down yet another bloody footnote.

 

Dinner type smells were coming from the barge as he let himself in carrying his very special bag. Duncan glanced up to make sure it was him, and then went back to cutting up the potatoes. "There's some Chardonnay in the fridge. Grab it and help yourself," he said.

Methos took out a small package from the bag and put it on the counter. He opened the freezer and put in his bag before grabbing the bottle. It popped open with a slight sigh and he poured two glasses.

Duncan took the glass offered, sipping from it before going back to the dinner. Methos sat back and watched as Duncan attacked cooking with the same passion as he did his fighting. He didn't think the food would dare to misbehave enough to ruin itself.

The result was much better than Methos deserved. The stuffed chicken breast in the thyme wine sauce brought out the sweetness of the crunch in the duchess potatoes. Halfway through the meal he stood up to get another bottle of wine and took his bag out of the freezer. Duncan either didn't see it or didn't care. Several times the conversation lapsed into long unbroken silences, but neither of them felt the need to fill them. By the end of the meal the wine had given Methos enough courage to set up the game.

"Do you want to play?" Methos asked, idly running his fingers up and down the stem of the glass. Duncan couldn't stop staring, and Methos didn't think the flush on Duncan's face was caused by the wine.

"What kind of game?"

"A simple one. It's all about self control," he said cautiously. Duncan would never agree to this. What was he thinking? It wasn't something to put up for a bet.

Duncan's face clouded over as Methos had known it would. "I'm not talking about pain," he said quickly. Duncan had to know he would never hurt him deliberately. "I just don't think you could help yourself."

"Help myself from what?" Duncan asked. It was a very cautious question, but not an immediate no.

Methos leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Touching me," he said, like it was a Herculean task.

Duncan relaxed somewhat. Bingo. "You make it remarkably easy sometimes," Duncan said, but the Scot was smiling.

"But not tonight," Methos said. He leaned back into the chair. The glass started to pick up his body heat. "I don't think you could tonight," _It almost made him laugh, and that wouldn't have been good at all. The fly was almost was in the parlor._

"All I have to do is not touch you?" Duncan wasn't buying it. It seemed too easy.

"That's it," Methos said, quickly. The game began.

"And you can't touch me, either?" Duncan asked. He wasn't stupid, but he was smiling.

"I can't touch your privates," Methos said, almost primly.

"With your hands or your mouth?"

Methos wasn't looking for a loop-hole. "Yes, yes. With anything. Those are the rules."

"What do I win?"

"Me," Methos said with a grin.

"I could have you without playing," Duncan argued.

"Remarkably simple game, remarkably simple prize," Methos sighed. "Unless you don't want me..."

"And if I don't win?" Duncan asked, ignoring the last part.

"You don't think you could win?" Methos asked, innocently. Not quite as subtle as dropping to his knees, but a distraction nonetheless.

"I didn't say that. What happens if I do touch you?" Duncan asked.

Methos made a very calculated seemingly random gesture with his hand. "Oh, you know. Turn about being fair play and all," he said. This was too easy. The poor little fly.

"Would you like to clarify that a bit?" Duncan asked, cautiously.

And MacLeod had never been a lawyer. Duncan was evolving. "Winner gets the loser," Methos said. He was back to his feral grin now, but only for a second. He slouched back in the chair.

Duncan continued not saying no. Another good sign in long strings of them. "Now my rules," Duncan said, finally.

"Rules?" Methos asked. Here it comes. He had deliberately made no mention of a time limit.

Duncan smiled, completely missing the point. "I want obedience."

The words surprised him, but made the game far more interesting. His lips curled up again in a slight smile. "Would you like to clarify that a bit?" he asked, imitation flawless.

"If I win, then the next ten things I tell you to do you must immediately say, 'yes, Duncan', and do them."

This definitely was coming along. But he had never accepted the first offer. "Three," he countered.

"Eight."

"Five."

"Deal."

"Deal." It might even be worth losing, but Methos had a terrible vision of being forced to clean the barge. He trusted the Scot, but the man was learning and a student must never outdo the master.

They stared at each other, and then both laughed...probably for different reasons.

 

Duncan didn't really protest as Methos returned to the bed with silken ties. They would break if Duncan put the least bit of effort into it, and that was something Methos was counting on. He left them on the bedside table and ordered Duncan to strip down and get comfortable. Duncan didn't complain at the blindfold either. Methos lowered it and kissed him. "I'll be right back," he promised, whispering the words in Duncan's ear.

It took a while to heat up the hot fudge. He deliberately banged drawers and rattled things to make Duncan think the worst, but every time he glanced over Duncan was still as he had been placed. Methos tested the fudge frequently and made sure it wouldn't hurt when dripped. When it was warmed through, he put it in a hot water bath. That taken care of, he took off the lid of the ice cream and saw that it had melted enough to be frothy around the edges. Perfect. Duncan was his.

"What are you doing?" Duncan demanded as he returned. His accent was slightly thicker, as were other parts of his body. Methos kissed his lips, nibbling on the bottom one, but said nothing as he let the silk bonds dangle over his chest. Duncan jerk forward, but Methos gently pushed him back.

"No pain," he promised, loving the nervous set to Duncan's lips. Methos kissed them, once, and then pulled away. "Do you want me to continue?" he asked. He let his voice caress even more than the silk.

MacLeod didn't answer him. Methos pulled further away. "Do you want me to continue?" he asked again, letting the silk caress Duncan's belly.

"Yes," Duncan whispered.

"What was that?" Methos asked, moving closer.

"Yes, you bastard. Yes," MacLeod almost snapped.

Methos laughed. "If you insist," he said. He took Duncan's right hand, and brought it to the bedpost. He tied it down, but only loosely. Duncan could have slipped his hand out of the bond if he wanted to. Methos kissed him again as he tied the other hand to the other side. Duncan was completely at his mercy.

The first spoonful of ice cream was ready. That wasn't even the right term for what he scraped off the sides. It had melted to whipping cream consistency and he let it dribble from the spoon along the top of Duncan's pectorals. Duncan jerked, and the rich, cold chocolate trickled down his chest leaving a frothy trail behind it. Methos waited until it almost slipped into the danger zone before licking it up. Duncan twisted, but his hands stayed locked around the bedposts.

"You have no idea the things I will make you do," Duncan threatened. His chest was heaving.

Methos smiled, and was glad that the blindfold was on. It wasn't a pretty smile. "Likewise, MacLeod," he said. More chocolate trails ran down MacLeod's chest. Methos never let it touch the man's nipples, nor did he let the chocolate stray out of bounds.

He chased a dollop around Duncan's lower belly, being exceptionally careful not to lose by default, while Duncan strained against him, hoping for exactly that. It was time for the next stage.

He broke away for a moment, stripping off his own clothes. Duncan relaxed against the bed in the moment of respite. Methos unzipped his jeans, and smiled as MacLeod's head jerked slightly at the sound. He pulled them off, climbing back on the bed. "Methos--" Duncan's voice was thick, and Methos smiled as Duncan all but groaned when his weight came down over Duncan's thighs.

"Methos, please," MacLeod whispered, and then his voice died as Methos moved against his thighs, slightly. "When I get my hands on you I am going to--" Duncan's voice was now harsh.

Methos shifted forward, kissing him quickly on the bridge of his eyebrow. His tongue slid down the ridge of bone, nuzzling on the ear. "Do what, MacLeod?" Methos mocked him lightly. "Show me."

"Not yet, Methos. I can wait."

"Can you?" Methos whispered. "We'll see."

With one hand in the fudge, and the other hand in the ice cream, Methos painted his name on Duncan's body. Not that he let his canvas get sticky. His tongue was as thorough as it was lavish. He was actually quite impressed with Duncan's control. But the contrast of heat and cold was working very well, and Methos could see the obvious response. He cleaned Duncan off again, feeling the heart pounding under his tongue.

"Is this the worst you can do?" Duncan managed.

"No," Methos said, honestly. He had to hurry--the fudge was cooling. He took half a mouthful of ice-cream from the hardest part of the tub, and then took more fudge. Quickly, so as not to lose either of the extremes, he suckled Duncan's nipple.

The sound of the ripping silk was almost lost in the grunt of surprised pleasure. His head was forced down, and he let himself be manipulated. Duncan deserved at least that. Not that it lasted long. Duncan finished before Methos managed to work all the chocolate off his teeth.

 

When he was finished, Duncan pushed him away and climbed out of bed, his annoyance at losing obvious, in spite of his equally obvious pleasure. Methos rolled onto his back to keep from touching the sheets with his sticky fingers. , he thought. Licking his fingers clean, he heard the shower start and got up to put the ice cream back in the freezer.

Duncan eventually returned to the bed, lying down on his belly. "Hey," Methos said, getting back onto the bed. He knelt beside the inert body. Duncan's skin was cold from the water as Methos kissed his shoulder.

The tremble was new. "What's wrong?" Methos asked, sitting back on his haunches.

Duncan rolled over on his side. "You've never done this before," Methos stated. He kept his voice gentle, trying to calm the slight uneasiness in Duncan's eyes. It wasn't working. He pulled away a little more and Duncan sat up. "Talk to me, MacLeod. You either want to do this or you don't. This is nothing to be stoic about," Methos said, taking the effort to keep from snapping. This wasn't the MacLeod he knew.

The silence continued for another heartbeat, and Methos was about to reach for his jeans when Duncan kissed him. For the first time Duncan was passive, parting his lips for Methos, who was delighted to accept the offer. After that, words seemed redundant. Once his tongue slipped past Duncan's lips, Duncan moved to meet him. Their tongues played together, neither attempting to overpower the other. Duncan finally broke away and met his eyes.

Methos cupped the man's chin, kissing his along his cheekbones, and nibbling on the golden skin. He moved downwards, working on the Scot's collarbone. "This isn't going to hurt," Methos whispered into his body. Duncan lifted his chin up.

"I know," he said.

There it was, the trust. That Duncan trusted him enough to give over control thrilled him so that Methos' skin tingled as he moved up against Duncan's body. He didn't have the physical presence to force Duncan back, but he didn't need to. MacLeod responded by sliding his body down the bed until Methos was over him.

Methos kissed him, rubbing his body against Duncan's for a moment. He reached down and touched the tattoo with his fingertips. , he thought with a smile. He pulled away for a moment. "I want you to turn over," he said.

Oh, that back. He ran his tongue over the major muscle groups, but most of the man's flavour had been washed away. He worked his way up to the nape of Duncan's neck, kissing the spine's indentation and sucking on the curls still thick with water from the shower. Duncan was beginning to squirm under him. Ah. A very good sign. "Just do it," Duncan ordered. His voice was thickening.

"Impatient to get it over or get it started, MacLeod?" Methos whispered in his ear. Duncan bucked, spilling him. It was a very subtle reminder of the added weight advantage. Methos laughed, reaching for the jar of cream.

Duncan was tight. Methos had to work the first finger in and as slippery as it was it was still a struggle. "Relax," he whispered, kissing Duncan's shoulder. He found the man's prostate and massaged it. Duncan groaned as if he were actually in pain. His hips jerked, and he threw his head back.

Duncan's muscles were tense. Methos slipped his fingers out for a moment, picking up more cream. This time it was easier. He leaned forward, kissing Duncan's neck. He let his tongue play behind the Scot's ears, and slid in another finger. Duncan strained against him.

The cream was cold against his skin, but it only took a moment for it to heat it up. He heard Duncan groaned as he entered. It wasn't a painful sound, thankfully, because with the heat and the tightness he didn't think he could stop. He worked his way slowly into the beautiful body under him, until his chest was pressed up against Duncan's back. He rested for a moment, feeling his own heart thump against his ribs. Duncan moved against him, the same way Methos had dozens of times. "Please," Duncan whispered.

"Patience, MacLeod," Methos whispered. He propped his left arm to support some of he weight, and Duncan turned to it immediately. The slight stubble on his cheek contrasted with the silk of his lips and tongue. Methos laughed, but barely made a sound. A shudder passed through him as Duncan squeezed his muscles against him. "Hey! Alright, alright."

Methos pressed his lips against Duncan's shoulder and began moving. His groan was smothered by Duncan's skin, but Duncan echoed the sound himself. MacLeod was moving against him, and while Methos tried to be as gentle as he could, it was impossible. Duncan only encouraged him by arching his back to meet his thrusts and grunting as Methos slapped against him.

Methos had to pull his mouth away; the temptation to actually bite down was too strong. He threw his head back as Duncan began shuddering. It was enough to make Methos lose control as well. He collapsed against MacLeod's sweaty body, gasping himself. Chocolate was good, but how could anyone compare it to that?

* * *

Methos woke up alone late the next morning. He stretched out in bed, working his shoulders and yawning. He glanced at the alarm, realizing that he would have to get up soon if he wanted to ambush MacLeod. He moved his shoulders again. No...he wanted to be ambushed. For that moment, though, he was satisfied enough to be in a bed that smelled of the Scot.

More than two hours passed before the warning finally came. Methos had begun to worry over an hour ago. He couldn't stop imagining Duncan losing a challenge and the fist holding his heart tightened a little more each time. Why was he feeling like this? MacLeod could care for his head as well as anyone, but reason didn't help the anxiety. As Duncan came down the stairs Methos stood up.

"Where have you been?" Methos demanded.

"Methos?" Duncan asked. Methos' tone surprised him. It surprised both of them.

"I thought you were dead. You're more than two hours late. I thought someone had managed to take you."

Duncan looked up at him, amused. "It's not like the old days when you could buy shackles almost anywhere, is it, Methos?" he drawled. His eyes twinkled.

Humour helped as much as reason did. Duncan must have seen his face because the Scot walked over and held him. "It's okay," Duncan whispered in his ear. "Nothing happened."

For a moment Methos slumped against him, resting his head against the sweaty shoulder. "This time," he said. His voice sounded tiny. Was this what he was reduced to? He couldn't let himself go to pieces whenever Duncan stepped out of his sight. He hadn't before. What was wrong with him? He pushed away, trying to bury the concern. "You have a routine, MacLeod. Stick to it, or let me know. I can't handle dealing with unpleasant alternatives this early in the morning," he said, being stubborn. He turned his back.

"I am an insensitive bastard," Duncan said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Would having a shower make you feel any better?"

Methos turned around, letting the mock-suspicion show. "Can I wash your hair?" he asked, mulishly.

"You can wash anything of mine you want," Duncan said, generously, and then smiled.

 

Methos washed everything he could his hands on, but then forgot himself and tried to kiss a soapy shoulder. He was still washing out the taste when they felt a familiar warning before they could get any further than that. Leaving Duncan to rinse off, Methos pulled on his jeans, cursing the wet denim. He was grabbing his sword as there was a knock on the door.

Duncan shook his head and walked past him. "Bad guys don't generally knock, Methos," Duncan said, exasperated.

"There's always a first," Methos shot back.

But it was only Amanda. She looked at the two of them, Duncan mostly dressed and calm while Methos was still dripping wet and armed, and then laughed. "My, my, my," she said.

Methos put away his blade and Duncan tossed him a towel. Catching his eye, Duncan cocked his head towards the door, and Methos half-nodded. It meant leaving Duncan and Amanda alone, but they both looked like they needed to talk. Methos went to find more clothing as Duncan took Amanda's arm and led her outside.

A while later, Duncan came back down. "Interested in brunch?" he asked.

"Yeah," Methos said. He grabbed his jacket.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, so they decided to sit outside. Methos said nothing as Duncan pulled out the chair for Amanda. If Duncan had tried the same thing with him he would have knocked the Scot down, but with Amanda it should have been right because of their past relationship. But he still smarted over his complete lack of control earlier that morning and he couldn't help seeing it as a threat to their relationship. What was the matter with him? Amanda caught his eye as she adjusted her chair to the table and he looked away first. He was over-reacting again. Caffeine-induced paranoia. He'd have to cut some of the chocolate from his diet.

When the waiter came Amanda ignored them both and ordered for everyone. Duncan caught his eye and smiled at that. Methos almost jerked as he felt a foot climbing his leg, and then running up and down his calf. When he looked up Duncan ignored him. God, he hoped it was Duncan.

His discomfort grew during the course of the meal as Duncan relaxed, laughing and flirting in a way he never did when it was just Methos. The foot hadn't come near him since Amanda started to laugh. He didn't think Amanda was doing it on purpose. She and Duncan had known each other a long time, and had been friends as well as lovers. And it wasn't that the conversation contained anything inappropriate. Methos just felt like he'd been gradually worked out of it. Although he had to admit that he'd done nothing to prevent that from happening. When the waiter came back to fill their wine glasses again, Duncan pulled back from the conversation enough to glance at him. Methos shrugged back. After the second course came, Methos worked his foot up Duncan's leg, returning the favour, but stopped when he saw Duncan's eyebrows twitch.

Methos glanced up. The rest of the tables were being changed for the late lunch crowd, but Duncan and Amanda were still into each other. He leaned back against his chair and the sword in the lining kept his back straight. He watched Duncan. They were talking about the circus again. He hated circuses. The screams, the dust, the small children. Elephants. Elephants stunk and for the longest time their supervisors Hadn't been much better. Why was Duncan ignoring him? The bastard. How could MacLeod look so normal if anxiety always felt this heavy? Did Duncan see his head flying off every time he looked over? The bastard. He'd had control of this a day ago. Hadn't he?

Amanda turned to him. "Don't you think?" she asked. He started, then guessed from her voice that she wanted affirmation. She was also smiling at him, he noted clinically. There was no malice in that smile, no jealousy. He hated her. Why couldn't she steer the conversation to something he could talk about? Avoiding confrontation. Doing nothing in the face of adversity. Not letting lovers get too close...damn. Too late.

"Absolutely," he said with his own smile. A different kind of smile. A smile that made Duncan's eyebrows jump closer together.

She nodded, carefully, and went back to talking about czars in Russia. Who cares, he wanted to shout. They hated elephants, too.

* * *

In the car Duncan spent three or four minutes inhaling, holding his breath, and exhaling again sharply. "What?" Methos demanded. "Let it out, MacLeod." He had behaved like a complete idiot all day. he thought.

Duncan misread his face. "What's wrong with you? You didn't say three words at the table."

"I'm sorry, it's so hard to speak when you're waiting for two people to stop to breathe at the same time." Sarcasm again. How did that slip out? he admonished. MacLeod did not have to put up with him when Amanda was just waiting by the sidelines.

Duncan stared straight ahead. "Amanda and I are just friends," he said, finally, as if Methos had spoken aloud. "You don't have to compete with her."

"Compete with her for what?" Methos asked.

Duncan didn't answer him. Stupid question. He'd never bothered with them before. His knee started to twitch and he held it still physically with his hand. He took a breath to control himself. "You just spent the past three hours flirting with her," he said finally.

"You're jealous."

"I am not!" He said it too quickly. Duncan saw it, too. They were going too fast for Methos to jump out of the car, but he did consider it.

"Methos--" Duncan began.

"Yes?" Methos asked, reluctantly.

Duncan's hand came off the gear shift and touched his knee. Methos pushed it away quickly in case the twitch came back. "Amanda is a friend," Duncan said, gently.

"And you take such good care of all your friends," Methos spat out. He couldn't help himself.

"Yes, I do," Duncan said, simply. He deliberately ignored the sarcasm.

* * *

By the time they got back to the barge, the atmosphere between them was cold. Duncan moved to him and touched his chin. Methos let him lift it, but kept his face impassive to hide the desperation. He didn't blame MacLeod for reading it as lack of interest. "She really does bother you, doesn't she?" Duncan asked, quietly.

"I told you. It's not about her," Methos said, taking the chance to pull away. He needed time to think. His emotions were winning over his survival instincts, and he wasn't prepared for it. Methos tensed as Duncan came up behind him, pinning him to the back of the sofa.

"You can't ignore me forever," Duncan whispered, softly.

"I'm not in the mood, MacLeod," he lied. Duncan was all around him, and for a single moment he considered wrapping himself around Duncan's body and letting himself be controlled, but he forced himself to push away, and Duncan let him go. He could still feel the man's heat, but could only see Duncan losing a sword fight. The thought fed into his panic. Methos ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut. The cool air helped a little.

Methos drove mindlessly. He was miles from the city when something hissed and for the first time in a long while it wasn't him. Something gave out, and the little car coasted to the side of the road. Methos stared at the instruments blankly for an extended time, wondering which deity loved Duncan enough to make Methos' life so miserable.

Eventually he got out and popped the hood, but the engine looked no different to him than it did when it actually worked. He kicked the tire because that was what people did and started the walk back to a gas station he had passed earlier. It was a long walk back, and with the expression on his face no one stopped to pick him up. He didn't really blame them.

* * *

Duncan answered on the third ring. "What?"

"Are you sober?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"The kind asked by idiots stranded out in the middle of nowhere."

"Methos?"

"Obviously. Are you going to pick me up or not?"

"Hold on, I'll be right there."

Methos told him where and hung up, pressing his head against the cold glass of the phone booth. The boyscout to the rescue, again. Now he only needed the earth to swallow him whole to make his day complete.

* * *

Duncan restricted his conversation to the automotive problems on the way back, and didn't seem to mind Methos ignoring him. But by the time they made it back to the barge, both of their moods had sunk lower.

"What's wrong?" Duncan asked, resting his forearms against Methos' shoulders. For a moment Methos let him and then twitched under him, glowering. Duncan pulled away.

Methos glowered more. He hadn't wanted to be let go. Duncan didn't understand anything. He threw himself down on the couch, sprawling his body as much as possible to discourage MacLeod, who let himself be discouraged.

"Why did you ignore me this morning?" Methos demanded.

"What are you talking about?"

"When I touched you under the table. You flinched."

"You're wearing hiking boots, Methos," Duncan said.

Methos glanced down. Oh, yeah. Duncan sat down beside him but he had to move a leg and an arm to sit closer. Methos allowed it. Duncan replaced the leg over his lap, and Methos let him do that, too. The hand came up his leg, stroking along the inside of his thigh. Methos ignored him, staring stonily ahead.

"Amanda only wants to be friends. And you can't blame me for not including you in the conversation, Methos. You had plenty of opportunities."

Methos turned to him. "I don't want to talk about her," he said. He continued to ignore the hand that was lightly caressing up and down his inner thigh, though it was taking more and more effort.

"What do you want to talk about?" Duncan asked.

"I don't want to talk."

"Then let's not talk," Duncan said. He pulled at Methos' sweater, and Methos lifted his arms to let him pull it off.

Duncan gripped his shoulders, and a moment later they were on the floor together.

He panicked, feeling Duncan's chest tight against his back. Duncan's full weight pressed him down and Methos locked his elbows to keep from being crushed against the floor. His shoulder twisted under the weight, and he half collapsed with the pain. Before he knew what was happening, Duncan had stripped off his jeans and was trying to get inside him.

"Duncan, stop it," Methos said, keeping his voice light. He tried sliding away, but without much effort. It didn't work. He was trapped under the weight and couldn't control his own fear. Duncan must have thought it was still a game, because he didn't let Methos go. When the Scot entered him, the pain made the barely emerging panic flare up uncontrollably.

"No!" he howled. The anger hid most of the fear. He fought free, kicking and elbowing the lug off him. He pulled to his feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Duncan demanded, breathing heavily.

Duncan's response surprised him, and fueled his anger. He had expected an apology, not a slap to the face. He grabbed his sweater without answering.

"Why is it always hot and cold with you?" Duncan asked as he heavily climbed back onto the couch.

Duncan thought he was playing. Methos almost glared as he grabbed his jacket on the way out.

"I don't understand you, Methos," Duncan called after him.

Methos didn't stop to explain. How could he? He didn't want to think about Lucullus. He had only been with the dead bastard for a week, but he still had nightmares.

* * *

 

Methos glanced up at the warning of another immortal, then climbed out of bed and grabbed his sword. He ignored the knock, letting it get angry. "Methos, open up," Amanda called.

He didn't answer. It wasn't MacLeod. He didn't know if he was grateful or annoyed.

"Methos, please," she continued.

He finally unlocked the door, still not speaking. What was MacLeod thinking, sending his ex-girlfriend to deal with him? He had blown it. He knew that. Let the bloody Scot lose his head. He didn't want to care any more. It was over. He put his blade away and slouched back into the new couch. It was an ugly old thing, but it worked. "What do you want?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

She sat down on the table across from him, saying nothing.

The silence grew palpable between them. Methos didn't stop glowering. Her eyes met his, not letting the anger distract her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, finally.

"I was sleeping," Methos snapped. Stupid question. Next.

She blinked a couple of times. "Methos, you have him. I don't want him back."

That disarmed him, but he didn't believe her. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?"

"I saw you yesterday, Methos. Duncan didn't see it but I did."

"Saw what?" he asked, carefully.

"You. You didn't hear anything we said to each other. I am telling you, I do not want him back."

"He wasn't mine because you didn't want him," Methos said, quietly. "He came to me."

She put out her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't come here to argue this with you."

Methos suddenly stood up. She followed him with her eyes as he started looking for an easily defendable position. "What do you want, Amanda?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt tired even though he had slept all night.

"I owe you a favour."

"You told Duncan we were even," he said, guardedly.

"Methos, you saved my life."

"Don't bring that up again," he said. Thinking about saving life brought back memories that were to close to what had almost happened last night. And what had happened last night? When Duncan had mistaken his dissuasions for an invitation, he had panicked.

"Methos--"

"I said don't!" Methos snapped, suddenly remembering she was there again.

Amanda backed down. "Do you know what your problem is?" she asked, finally.

"Do tell me," he said, very softly. He was not in a mood to have her list his faults. She either didn't recognize the tone in his voice or ignored the threat, because she continued as if he really wanted to know.

"You're a man," she said, and then shushed his immediate response. He was so stunned at being shushed she continued uninterrupted. "But don't worry, Duncan has the same problem," she said, cheekily.

"This has nothing to do with what happened at the cafe yesterday," he said, crossing his arms over his chest again.

Part of him knew last night was his fault, he should have established that he didn't want to play rough. Duncan should have known him well enough to recognize his response. He took a deep breath. Amanda had invited herself for this nice chat between friends, so he let her have it.

"I panicked," Methos said, finally. "He was late coming home yesterday morning and I couldn't handle him being dead," he said. "And then, when we were settling down for a nice fuck, he hurt me by accident and I over- reacted."

"Why didn't you just tell him that?" she asked.

Methos opened his mouth, and shook his head. He could only shrug.

She walked over to him and patted his cheek. "Duncan doesn't understand. You have to teach him these things," she said, gently, and then took a quick breath. "And Methos? We all die, but Duncan is very good at not letting that happen. You should trust him more."

He was quiet. She was right.

 

Methos locked the door behind her and stood in front of it for a very long time. He had not handled last night very well. If he had just explained to MacLeod how much it would have hurt there was no way Duncan would have continued. But he had spent all week yelling at the Scot for letting Methos push him away. Then he rejected him when Duncan tried to get closer. Hot and cold. Methos shook his head. It was just that he couldn't help it.

He went back to the barge. It wasn't dirty, it wasn't even particularly unkempt, but compared to how clean it had been when he moved in it was in shambles. He looked around, trying to see the barge as Duncan must, and realized he had messed things up. Literally and figuratively. So...he cleaned.

It took him all morning. He even moved the fridge out from its place and cleaned behind it. He cleaned the floors, and stripped down the bed, tossing the sheets in to wash. The clean sheets still had creases from being folded as he tucked them in, and smiled at all the effort it would take to smooth them out. Then he scoured the shower stall before taking a break a little after noon.

He took out the last of the beer from the fridge. With the door opened, Methos could see how low they were on food. The few apples that remained were starting to shrivel, and they were out of a few other important things like beer. He glanced over at the liquor as well. More whiskey, too.

But his car was in the shop. Damn. For a moment he thought about taking the bus, but his skin was already sweaty from cleaning and didn't want to deal with the horrible fumes and the proximity to other people. Duncan's keys were sitting on the small table. The Thunderbird would never be in the shop. Duncan took extremely good care of it. He grabbed the keys and stepped outside.

 

It took a moment to adjust the mirrors. He couldn't understand the need for antique cars, but the Thunderbird handled beautifully. Methos kept it under the speed limit and was careful to the point of paranoia with it. He parked at a distance from the market to avoid getting the car marked and went inside.

Methos couldn't help but smile. He felt so domestic. Duncan would have been proud of him. He avoided the aisles with the foods he wanted and bought things that could actually be called ingredients. Beautiful vegetables, peasant bread, a nice tenderloin...he wanted to show Duncan that he could do this. He stopped at the frozen food section on the way to the check out and picked up another gallon of ice cream. It might be needed for later.

* * *

Duncan came home in a bad mood. His head ached with a slight throb from the day he had, and all he wanted was something to drink and a quiet night. He had lost a silent bid on a Chippendale end set and then bought a vase that turned out to be a fake. He blamed Methos. If he hadn't been so distracted he would never have let either happen.

He stopped dead, suddenly realizing that his car was not where he had left it. His first thought was that it had been stolen, but as he picked up the phone to call the police, he glanced at the spot he usually kept his keys. They too were gone. Methos had them. They needed to talk.

His mood became worse as he saw the condition of the barge. It wasn't really fair to the old man, he had obviously tried, but it was only half measures. The fridge had been moved, but the old man's unfinished beer bottle still sat on the counter. The sheets were unfinished in the washing machine. The new ones were on the bed but the blankets were still piled at the foot.

He went outside to wait for Methos, just to see if the car was all right. He knew the old man was manipulative. They never would have been together if he wasn't. He knew he was self-centred. Half the time Methos was somewhere else entirely and didn't seem to notice the effect he had. But Methos should not have taken his car without permission. That angered him more and more the longer he had to wait. Hot and cold. He was sick of it.

* * *

Methos drove up half an hour later. He got out, stopping long enough to pull bags of groceries out of the back seat. He looked around, nervous for a moment, and then saw where MacLeod sat and grinned. Duncan waiting for him. That had to be a good sign.

Halfway up the gang plank he stopped walking. Both his hands were full of brown paper bags, but his grin died to a nervous smile when he saw Duncan's face. "Happy to see me, Duncan?" he asked, hesitantly. Hadn't MacLeod seen the inside of the barge yet? What was going on here?

"Do you want to explain yourself?" Duncan asked. His voice was extremely flat.

"About what?" Methos asked, suddenly feeling very nervous. "The car? Look, I'm sorry, we needed food and my car's dead. You know that."

"Why did you take the car?" Duncan asked, as if Methos wasn't heard.

"We needed groceries," Methos explained using the same tone. He had come to apologize for his behaviour, but suddenly he couldn't. What was Duncan's problem?

"Don't touch it again."

"What?" Methos asked, taking a step forward. The bags were heavy and the ice cream was melting. He wanted inside, but Duncan was still between him and the door. Duncan turned around, obviously thinking the conversation was over. "It's just a car," Methos said, letting some of the bewilderment creep into his voice. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me?" Duncan demanded, turning around. Methos took a step backwards, the anger in his words startling him. He continued backing up until he was on dry ground again. Duncan pushed him back. "You don't respect personal property. You never have. There was a reason I locked my doors before getting involved with you," Duncan snapped.

The bag with the whiskey slipped out of Methos' fingers. It broke, splashing his boots with the amber liquid. Where was this coming from? Personal property? Was that really an issue with the Scot? He couldn't understand the reaction. He had planned a great meal where he would actually cater to Duncan for once and suddenly he was off the barge and being yelled at. He blinked, carefully, but Duncan's anger didn't go away.

"I--" he began, but Duncan wasn't hearing him. The Scot went back into the barge and closed the door behind him.

Methos glanced down at the bags of groceries he still carried. He rescued the six pack of beer, but threw the rest of it into the Seine. When he looked down at his hands again, he realized the car keys were still looped onto his index finger. Methos stepped over the forty year old mud-puddle. He hoped Duncan could hear the squealing of the tires.


	2. Sword At the Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methos realizes the grand theft auto is the least of his problems. Amanda steps in and offers to help...for a small price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Methos, Duncan and the concept of Immortality belong to Panzer, Davis, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television. They have since been returned. Promise. Author's note-- Ellen is a great Beta and I worship her for the work she's put in on it. Olympia and Celina have also been god-parents. Thanks to everyone.

The barge was missing. Amanda knew from the sense of immortal presence that she wasn't alone, but other than the Thunderbird itself and a slightly damp, broken paper bag, there was nothing where the barge had been just yesterday. Then she heard it, coming from the other side of the car. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." the voice chanted. After each "stupid" there was a quiet thump as something not quite hard hit something metal. She recognized the voice.

"Methos?" she called.

The chanting stopped.

"Methos? Where's the barge?"

The banging began again.

"Methos, where is Duncan?" Amanda tried again.

The banging stopped.

"Methos...um...the Thunderbird begs the question..."

More banging. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she heard.

There was a definite pattern. "I told you to teach him things, Methos. Not kill him. Please tell me you didn't kill him," she said, quietly.

"Stupid--" The banging ended as she walked around the car.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, quietly.

"Not enough," Methos said, honestly.

"Methos...why is the Thunderbird here when Duncan isn't?" she asked, quietly.

He went to throw his head back again, but she moved quickly and put her hand between his head and the car. "If you dent it Duncan will kill you. If he's not already dead. He's not already dead, is he?"

Methos slumped forward and began beating his head against his kneecaps. "Stupid, stupid--"

"You took the car, didn't you?" she asked without sympathy.

"Had to. He said I couldn't," Methos said from his knees.

She stepped back for a moment. Methos rocked his head to one side, looking at her. She saw in his eyes a moment of desperation. He wanted someone to understand why. She touched her chest. "I understand from here," she said, quietly, and then thwacked him over the head. "But what the hell were you thinking?" she demanded.

He went back to studying his kneecaps. "Funny, I don't remember thinking at all," he said eventually. The sound of forehead against knee-cap was more muffled, which made it even sadder.

"He's gone?"

"Uh-huh."

"No idea where?"

"Nope."

"Okay, we need a drink."

 

Methos changed drinks, realizing the logistical problems of having to drink enough beer to accomplish the level of drunkenness he needed. He picked up the shot glass, drained it, and refilled it twice by the time Amanda finished her phone calls.

"I've got some bad news, some worse news, and some news that will really upset you," she said, and took a deep breath. "The barge is in dry dock, he's left the country, and all your belongings are waiting for you at your place," she said.

Methos slumped forward, but realized quickly that beating his head against the table would only spill his drink. He picked up the little glass in a mock salute. "You have to admit, the boy's got style," he said, bowing his head for a moment. He knocked the drink back.

"Methos--" Amanda began.

Methos turned on her with a very slight smile. "And I owe it all to you. Duncan didn't know. I had to teach him. But what flair! I could never pull off such a masterpiece on my own. I really love that man," he said. The sarcasm lasted until just before the last sentence and then broke. Amanda ignored the emotion showing through. He drained the glass and filled it half way before going back to banging his head.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Amanda said.

"I haven't even started yet. This is still denial," he said. "You and your ridiculous seeing things his way. If I hadn't cleaned the barge--"

"How does cleaning the barge have anything to do with stealing the car?"

"I only borrowed it...the first time."

"You did it twice?" Amanda's voice leapt up.

Methos winced. "Yes," he said, scrunching his face. He stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To buy supplies and then find a hole in the ground. It's time to get seriously drunk."

"So that's it? You're giving up?" Amanda asked.

"It's over. He has left the country and he returned my stuff. Where I come from I'm pretty sure that means it's over," Methos said, finishing his glass. He slammed it down.

"Ah, but you see, where I come from that's just the opening move."

Methos paused for a moment before sliding back into his chair. "He didn't have a chance with you either, did he?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He sat up, suddenly very wary. "So...how much is this going to cost me?" he asked.

"A favour," she said.

"What kind of favour?" he asked.

She waved off his words. "I don't need it yet," she said with a smile.

"Okay. One favour. But the Scot is mine. Touch him and you will draw back bloody stumps."

She pulled back, horrified. "Why would I be helping you if I wanted him?" she asked.

"I like you, Amanda. I like the way you think. I know the way you think. Bloody stumps. Remember that."

Her wounded innocence just didn't work. She switched to a cat-like grin. "Remember my favour. Think...big, Methos. Think very, very big."

"Okay, I'll get the tickets."

"Not so fast," she said, grabbing hold of his arm.

"What?"

"I want it in writing."

"Ink or blood?" Methos asked, cautiously.

"Ink will do for most of it," she said.

 

Seacouver:

Methos lay flat on his back on the bed with his legs crossed. The world was coming back into sobriety after the flight but he knew how to change that. He sat up, reached down to where his beer rested on the carpet and drained half of it. Amanda was on the other side of the bed. At one time he would have found this an excellent position in which to be, but he barely glanced up as she took off her jacket and threw it on the chair. Both their swords were still in the airport provided canister.

"I think the most important thing is to remind him of the good times you have had," she said.

Methos threw himself backwards again, covering his eyes with his arm. "What good times? We had arguments and sex. That's it. That was the relationship." His tongue was loose from the beer and Amanda nodded like it was still a polite conversation.

"That can't be true. The two of you are friends."

Methos lifted his arm long enough to meet her eyes. "Have you ever fucked a friend before?" he asked.

She was silent. Methos nodded and replaced the arm.

The phone rang next to him. He reached out to take it and she slapped his hand away. "My room, my phone," she said, reaching over him to answer it. Methos let himself be crawled over, silently damning Duncan to the lowest level of hell.

"Hello?" she asked, sitting down. His hair brushed her hip as he sat up. She covered the mouthpiece for a moment. "Do you mind? It's private," she said.

Methos shook his head, swinging his legs down. His hip-joint popped as he stood, and he left through the adjoining door. He let it close, and almost made it to the bed before realizing that his hand was empty. He was turning around to collect his bottle, when he heard Amanda's laughter. "Oh, Duncan," she said.

Methos froze, face going even colder. So, she was playing with him. What a stupid woman.

Ten minutes later he knocked on the door again. "All done?" he asked, lightly, reclaiming his beer and his spot on the bed.

She smiled. "Of course."

"Where do you want to go for dinner? I feel like Chinese."

"I can't tonight, Methos."

"Really? Let's go for a drink before you leave then."

"Are you sure?"

Methos smiled at her. "After all you've done for me I think it's fair," he said.

She smiled back at him. "Thank you, then," she said.

Her face was so honest. His opinion of her went up slightly. Too bad he still had to cut off both her hands.

"Well, I have to shower and get ready. Why don't we meet in the lounge at six?" Amanda asked, almost distractly. She was thinking about someone else. Methos' planned point of amputation moved to the elbows.

"Why don't we?" Methos asked. He was being too sweet, giving her a chance to realize something was wrong and call the whole thing off. She didn't take the chance. Stupid, stupid woman.

Back in his room he locked his side of the door and picked up the phone. A lot of things could be arranged in an hour with the yellow pages, a phone, and a credit card.

* * *

The two men Methos had hired for the evening waited in the lounge. They were exactly what he needed, and he saw them both nod as he stood up and kissed her on the cheek. She was beautiful, and inside he started to slowly burn. The dress was cut to show exactly why a man like Duncan would prefer her to him. He ordered another beer, and she had a glass of wine. They sat and chatted about nothing for almost an hour before Methos stood up, putting a hand on her bare shoulder. "I should go. I'd hate to make your new guy think I'm the jealous ex-boyfriend," he said.

She laughed. So did he. They had different reasons. The two men nodded to him as he left the lounge. He nodded back.

* * *

Duncan glanced up as Amanda entered the restaurant. He had been surprised that she didn't want him to pick her up, but watching her walk across the room was worth it. Where she walked conversations ended, she was that stunning. As she approached the table, he stood and pulled out her chair. She thanked him with a smile.

"There is no way Methos would ever look that good in that outfit," Duncan said instead of a greeting.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, seeing how easy this would be. Duncan himself didn't look too great, for all the beautifully tailored suit and glossy hair. He looked paler than usual, and there was almost a gauntness to his cheeks. "I was surprised that you knew I was here so quickly," she said.

He put his hand over hers. "I am sorry, Amanda. I put you through so much. I don't know what it is about that manipulative bastard. He just got under my skin. The more I tried to cut him out the more I bled."

"I don't want to talk about him, Duncan. Let's talk about us," she said, smiling prettily.

It didn't take much prodding to bring the conversation back to Methos. Duncan didn't even seem to know it was happening. Amanda smiled at that. Apparently Methos was right. The two argued and slept together. She couldn't see it being much of a relationship, but they were both miserable without each other. She nodded vaguely, almost encouraging him to list more of Methos' faults, and then frowned. Two big police officers were making their way straight to their table. Duncan saw the twitch in her face and glanced up. "Amanda...what did you do?" he asked.

"Nothing recently," she said, after thinking about it for a heartbeat. "And nothing in Seacouver. They have to be for someone else."

They weren't. "Ma'am, are you Amanda Deveraux?"

Amanda nodded, cautiously.

"If you will just come with us," the first one said.

"There has got to be a mistake," Amanda said.

"Please, ma'am. Don't make a scene and disturb all these nice people. If you follow us out we'll read you your rights in the car and ignore the handcuffs," the second one said. He was younger and almost too handsome to be a police officer.

"Amanda, what did you do?" Duncan asked again.

"Nothing. Call my lawyer, Duncan."

"I know the drill."

As good as their word, they let Amanda walk out of the restaurant in front of them. Duncan watched her swish away and then summoned the waiter. "Clear the other place. I'm dining alone tonight," he said.

"Of course, Mr. MacLeod," the waiter said.

"Do you have a courtesy phone for patrons to use?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. If the phone rings for me tonight, tell whoever it is that I am not here," he said.

"Yes, Mr. MacLeod," the waiter said with a very straight face.

* * *

The most difficult part of the night's plan required Methos to find a suitable interrogation room. He had finally found a janitor's room on the main floor in the back that had the required bars in the window for full dramatic use. The window had been kept open, and when Methos finally showed up Amanda stopped her shivering and jerked up, trying to locate the other Immortal. She was bound, gagged and blindfolded, and he took malicious pleasure in ripping off the tape on her mouth. "Can't we talk about this?" was Amanda's immediate response.

"I've used that line. It hardly ever works," Methos said.

"Methos!" Amanda said. He could hear the relief in her voice.

"I told you, bloody stumps."

"I was doing it for you."

"In that dress?" Methos snapped.

"You should have seen his face."

"No, I shouldn't have."

"He only wanted to talk."

"I know Duncan and his wanting to talk."

"Methos, listen to me. He spent the whole time protesting he was over you. He still wants you," she snapped.

Methos sat down, suddenly. His legs weren't all that strong any more. "Really?" he asked, pathetically.

* * *

Duncan dined alone and uninterrupted. Exhausted, furious and still alone he returned to the loft. The door was still locked, but the counters were covered in flowers. On the coffee table sat a bottle of very nice scotch beside a small portable safe and a teddy bear. Duncan opened the safe door, and saw the empty key-ring inside and a post-it note. "Duncan's Important Stuff" was all it said. A folded piece of paper rested against the safe. "Well?" it asked. There was a fax number.

Duncan smiled slightly. He reversed the sheet, and wrote in capital letters, "Well what?" and sent it.

"Am I forgiven?" came a moment later.

"No." was the response. He turned the machine off and went back to the bottle of scotch. He poured himself a couple fingers and toasted the teddy bear. "Welcome to Seacouver, you Manipulative Bastard," he said. The newly named Meebs didn't answer back. He picked up the teddy bear and ripped off its head. He was tired of being played with.

* * *

The bar was crowded, but Methos found a barstool against the wall. He had let the fax ring over a dozen times before accepting that Duncan didn't want to play. He glanced over to his watch. That had been two hours ago. It still stung. He kept the stool next to him empty as well, without saying a word. No one attempted to join him. The beer arrived with regularity and the empties were taken away, but that was as much company as he wanted. His hotel room was too sterile; the smoke, the sweat and the anger in the air felt good against his skin.

He hadn't expected a warning, or one that strong. He turned in alarm. He had drunk a lot, but still felt sober enough to handle a challenge when he saw it was only Duncan and Richie. He would have preferred a challenge. Richie looked over the crowd, saw him, and turned around to leave, but Duncan grabbed his arm. They argued for a bit and then walked over. Methos finished his beer and leaned against the wall, watching them approach. He parted his lips, slightly, drawing the breath to say something when they claimed an abandoned table and turned their backs.

The snub hurt. He turned back to the bar and ordered another bottle. They were far enough away that with the din around them their conversation was private, but Richie glanced up at him twice. The first time he ignored it, the second time he met his eyes and wouldn't release him until the kid was almost squirming in his seat. Methos knew what was being discussed.

He had had enough of it. He threw down some bills on the bar and went to walk past them out the door. Maybe it was because he found Richie's American accent so completely grating that suddenly he heard part of their conversation.

"Come on, Mac, you've told me a hundred times I had to try new things. You tried something new. It's over. Move on," Richie said.

Duncan glanced up and saw him standing near their table. Richie looked up as well. Neither one of them had seen him move from the bar. There was a heavy silence that seemed to quiet even the bar noise, and Duncan turned back to Richie. "You're right," he said, finally.

He didn't remember getting back to the hotel, but suddenly he was aware of knocking on Amanda's door. Amanda answered it, dressed only in her robe. "My god, Methos, are you hurt? Did you take a head?"

He shook his head, and he stripped off his jacket. It landed with a clank and she put him in her bed. "What happened?" she repeated.

"This was all a mistake," he said, wondering how long it took to suffocate with a pillow. He could handle being dead for a bit. Maybe by the time he came back his heart would have stopped hurting. She sat down next to him, massaging his shoulders.

"Tell me what happened," she said, quietly.

Methos did. She nodded at the end of it. Her hands unknotted his back, and he began to feel aroused. It probably didn't help that the pillow he had buried his face into reeked of her scent as well. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, repositioning his body.

"I've been many things myself," she said, keeping her voice business- like.

He could understand that. "Let me make a phone call," he said. He called down to the front desk for a travel agent that stayed open late. Another call, and he'd bought a single ticket back to Paris the next morning. Amanda watched him, and then as he hung up she tugged at his sweater. "I can only do so much when I have to work through something," she said.

He let it her pull it off and lay down again. "You are really tight. Duncan gets to you, doesn't he?"

"Not any more, apparently," he said. He could still see Duncan's eyes. They didn't hate; they didn't love. They were just...blank. He had humiliated himself enough for one person. She moved down to his lower back and he groaned.

Her hands finished moving and rested on the edge of his jeans. Methos sat up, body tingling from her fingertips. They stared at each other for half a dozen heartbeats, and then she slowly parted her lips. Methos kissed her, but his gentleness turned more demanding as she let him. Their tongues met, stabbing at each other. He ran his hands over her face, amazed at the silkiness of her skin.

They broke apart, both stunned at what was happening, and then stripped off their clothing and fell into the bed itself. Methos pulled back in wonderment. "You are beautiful," he said, running a hand across her clavicle, over her breasts and down to the flat of her belly. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Methos...this is not the time," she said, gently. He let her pull him down into her.

He moved against her, inside her, over her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him tighter into her. He suddenly had an irrational fear of having his spine snapped in half, but if it meant being any closer he'd live with the handicap for a while. He suckled her skin, her neck, her cheeks, and when they kissed the power she gave over to him was thrilling.

* * *

It was late when Duncan returned to the loft and unlocked the elevator. The flowers were just as fresh as they had been when he left to go find Richie, and they seemed to mock the mood he was in. As the drunkenness slipped away from him he could see Methos' face after overhearing the conversation. He had hurt the old man. If he had taken out his sword and run Methos through it would have been kinder. To both of them.

Meebs, the pathetic little teddy bear, sat with his head beside him, but the hopefulness in its eyes had turned to reproach. He hadn't torn Methos' head off. Just his heart out. Duncan went to reach for the bottle and realized that there were no solutions in it. He grabbed his jacket and left the loft. * * *

Methos woke up in the very early morning, still wrapped around Amanda. He pulled away, kissing her cheek, and walked naked to the window. The streets were almost empty, and the fog made each one of the streetlights glow with its own halo. It was peaceful, and even the slight chill to the air felt good to him.

Under Amanda's perfume and personal scent the hotel had an institutional smell to it. He was so sick of hotel rooms.

There was a rumble as the heater kicked on, and the quiet clickings from the walls woke her up. "What time does your plane take off?" Amanda asked, sitting up.

"Eight," he said. Four hours.

The only sound she made as she crossed the floor to where he stood was the sound the springs made as she got out of the bed. She wrapped her arms around his body, leaning in on her tip-toes to rest her head on his shoulder. "Not over him, are you?" she asked, quietly.

He reached up and took her clasped hands in his. "No," he said.

He could feel her nod. "I didn't think so," she said, and kissed along his shoulder. "Do you think this punishes him enough for your hurt?" she asked.

Methos tilted his head so that it rested against hers. "This wasn't about that."

"Are you sure?"

Methos pulled her hands free from his body and turned to her. "I am sure," he said. He felt safe around her, like he could be what he was. But he wanted MacLeod. She understood that, at least.

"Have you ever fucked your friend?" she asked in his ear.

Methos felt the laughter in his chest, but kept it there. His shoulders moved slightly, and she squeezed him tighter. "I seem to be making a habit of it," he said, finally.

She kissed his cheek. "I didn't have a chance to tell you this before. The actors were a really nice touch."

"You liked that, did you?" Methos broke apart from her.

A moment later they both felt it. "MacLeod," they said together. She moved as fast as he did, collecting his clothes off the floor and tossing them at him. He caught them, already sliding into his jeans and doing them up on the fly. He threw open the dividing door, and saw how unslept in his bed looked. There was no time to do anything about it as he went to answer the door. And he wasn't sure he wanted to. It would serve Duncan right. Amanda moved behind him, turning on light switches and rumpling up the sheets enough to look sat upon. "Nice touch," he said. When he opened the door she looked as though she had been sitting on the bed all night.

"Do you know what time it is?" Methos said in lieu of a greeting.

Duncan seemed surprised at the harshness in his voice. He looked over Methos' shoulder to where Amanda was unfolding her legs and standing, stretching. Methos almost clenched his fists as Duncan looked back to him. There was no concern in his eyes. Nothing. It didn't even occur to him that anything had happened. he thought, bitterly.

"Four eleven," Duncan said, glancing down at his watch.

Amanda stretched, coming up behind Methos. "I'm obviously not needed," she said. Methos turned his face away from Duncan for a moment and she kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself," she said, and then glanced over to Duncan. "MacLeod, behave."

Methos squeezed her hand and she closed the dividing door. The slight thump the doorframe made could also have been the gloves coming off. Methos continued standing in the door way, but now he was angry.

"I'm glad to see the two of you getting along," Duncan said, for the first time pushing past him. Methos took a quick step backwards so he wouldn't have to touch MacLeod.

"Common enemy. It helps," he said, closing the door.

"About tonight..." Duncan began. He sat down on the bed.

Methos ignored the way Duncan sat in the room like he possessed everything in it. "Don't," he said, suddenly tired. He threw his bag on the other side of the bed and began packing. Duncan didn't try to stop him.

"I'll hear you now," Duncan finally said.

Methos froze. "That's nice, dear. Hear what?"

"Your apology."

"You had your chance," Methos reached under the bed and found his last sock. Duncan waited for him to start doing the bag up before grabbing his arm.

"This can end here," Duncan said.

"It just did," Methos looked up at Duncan's eyes for the first time. Inside he was furious at the man.

Duncan started to get angry as well. "You can stop with this phony friendship. She really is no competion."

"I just found that out," Methos spat back. "What do you want, MacLeod?"

"You are not getting on that plane. We are going to work this out."

"It's already been worked out. You hurt me. It's over," Methos snapped. He went to turn around, but suddenly Duncan was in front of him.

"Where do you think you are going?" Duncan demanded, grabbing Methos by the shoulders. MacLeod was now equally furious, and when Methos slumped down in his hands it made it even worse. He tossed Methos onto the bed, and he hit hard enough to bounce. He stayed where he was thrown, sitting back on his elbows.

"My plane leaves in three hours and thirty two minutes, MacLeod. If I am not on it I am on the next one or the one after that or the one after that. You can't keep me in this room forever."

"What do you want, Methos?" Duncan demanded, but he backed away and Methos could slide to the edge of the bed. He felt better with his feet on the carpet. Safer. He didn't answer MacLeod's question, but continued meeting the angry brown eyes with complete impassivity.

"Come home with me," Duncan ordered.

"No."

"Methos...you came to me."

"I did. And then I fucked up. I made a mistake and you took your toys and went home. And I actually asked you to forgive me. I put it on paper. You turned me down. You humiliated me in front of your student because his good opinion of you is worth more than our relationship."

Duncan moved as far into Methos' space as his glare would allow. Methos stared at him for a moment, before pulling his legs up underneath him.

"Methos, please."

"MacLeod, no," he said, firmly.

"Methos--" There was so much pain in the word. Methos glanced up. "Tell me what you want."

Methos looked away. "I wanted you to show me that you trusted me. I wanted to feel like I was your partner. I wanted you, Duncan. And now...I want to leave."

Duncan gave him that, at least.

"Methos, darling--" Duncan heard behind him.

He turned. "Methos, darling?" he asked.

She motioned to the rumpled bed. "After the night we had Mr. Pierson doesn't seem appropriate. Where are you going? Sit down, Duncan. We have to talk." MacLeod still didn't see it. Pride really does make people blind to the obvious. If Methos eventually did want to tell him, the old man would actually have to spell it out.

MacLeod tried to brush her off. "Not now. I have to go after him."

She blocked the door. "He's gone. If you want him back you have to let him go."

"Amanda, this isn't your fight. Don't interfere."

"Duncan, this isn't a fight. Sit or I will tie you down and I won't use silk."

"He told you everything, didn't he?" Duncan asked, quietly. His ears went red. It didn't suit him.

"Who did you come to get sympathy from, Duncan? You dumped me for Methos and you dumped Methos for a car. Tell me who you came here to see."

Duncan sat down, suddenly quiet.

Amanda walked over to where he sat and belted his chest with her hand. "You are an insensitive bastard," she said. "Are you listening?"

"I'm listening," Duncan finally said.

"Good."

Amanda took a deep breath. "What were you expecting, MacLeod?"

Duncan sat down on the bed, rubbing his face. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Methos didn't quite eat enough crow for you and you wanted him to suffer just a little more."

"That is not true. I love him."

"And it made you feel good knowing that he was falling over himself for your favour, didn't it?"

"It did not!" Ducan protested.

Amanda kept silent for a moment. Duncan rubbed his face, maybe she was right. A little. He might have enjoyed having the old man give all that attention to him, but Duncan would never admit it. "Did he tell you that, too?" he asked, finally.

Amanda shook her head.

He looked up. "I've blown it, haven't I?" he asked.

She put her hand on his shoulder for a second. "Not permanently."

He stood up, thought for a moment, and then sat down again. "What time does his plane leave?" "Eight."

MacLeod glanced at his watch. Methos wanted to run away; he would let him. But Methos made sure Duncan knew where he was going, so he obviously wanted to be followed. He sighed. Methos' games had begun again.


	3. Paradise Renegotiated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of the Garden series. Methos and Duncan...well,the title is self explanatory. The boys kiss and make up...eventually.

Amanda went back to the hotel after dropping Duncan off at the airport. She felt another immortal's warning just as the elevator stopped on her floor. She pulled free her blade, but put it away quickly after seeing Methos sitting against the wall with his knees up. He looked relieved to see it was only her as well.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling out her key.

"It occurred to me that MacLeod would probably look for me in Paris."

"And that would be a bad thing?" she asked. Methos looked miserable, and the hollows under his cheekbones were pronounced. When he looked up she saw could see the pain in his eyes. Duncan was a bastard, even if he didn't look much better himself.

"I don't want to be found, not yet. I'm still angry with him," Methos said. She could see his muscles clench as he hugged his knees closer to his body.

"He's on his way to Paris to find you," she affirmed, gently. They had spent most of the morning talking and she thought Duncan finally had some idea of the pain he had caused. Now it was Methos' turn for wounded pride. Men. They deserved each other.

"Let him. He'll think I'm just being hard to find. I need some time away from him," he said, not looking at her.

She nodded.

 

Back in the hotel room Amanda watched as Methos sat down on the far side of the bed. After a moment he stretched himself out, and sighed. "That bad?" she asked.

Methos nodded.

She lay down beside him. They turned to each other at the same time. Methos' eyes were still hurting, and the darkness around them made them seem almost bruised. For a moment they didn't say anything, and she reached out to touch his cheek. Methos closed his eyes for a moment, holding her hand to him, and then let her go, rolling onto his back. Amanda sat up. "Does this means you're taking your room back?" she asked, quietly.

He nodded, and his hand came up to cover his eyes.

"Oh, Methos," she sighed.

 

A week passed and Methos' mood hadn't improved. He'd stayed quiet and drunk, and Amanda was sick of it. She finally let herself into his room and threw open the curtains. "Get up, have a shower, and get dressed," she said, firmly.

"What are you doing?" Methos groaned, and covered his head with a pillow.

She refused to let his pathetic tone get to her. "You've been moping around for an entire week. You've drunk too much, and frankly, I'm sick of you feeling so sorry for yourself."

"Just leave me alone. I never asked you to--" Methos stopped arguing as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

A moment later he was in her room dressed only in jeans. "Hotel's shampoo smells like rotten floral arrangements," Methos muttered as he walked past her and locked himself in her bath. She heard the shower start.

The phone rang a few minutes later. "Hello?" she asked.

"Where is he?"

"MacLeod?" Amanda asked. The connection was bad.

"Of course. Where is the bastard?"

"Not here," she lied. She hoped the bad connection wouldn't carry the sound of the shower.

"I'll be right there," Duncan snapped. The line went dead. Damn cellulars. She knocked on the bathroom door. "MacLeod is on his way up," she called.

The water stopped. Methos never did waste time on stupid questions. A moment later she felt the warning. Not giving Duncan the chance to pound on the door she opened it. He stood in the hall, face pale with sullen anger. "Where is he?"

Methos came out of the shower, in his jeans, a towel over one shoulder. He stopped when he saw the two of them standing in the hall. Duncan glanced up and down at him, and the anger on his face grew. MacLeod was alive and cared enough to get furious at him. Suddenly that made Methos extremely happy, but then he remembered that he was still angry.

"This is personal," MacLeod said.

Amanda glanced back at Methos, and he nodded. Duncan probably wouldn't kill him and they did need to talk. She pushed past MacLeod in the doorway and was gone. Methos moved out from the hall into the room. He sat down on the bed and waited, impassively. He wasn't going to beg. He wasn't going to get angry. Damn, Duncan had a fine body. He wasn't going to get distracted, either.

"How long have you been here?" Duncan demanded.

"I never left," he said, not looking up.

"Are you and Amanda..." Duncan asked, quietly. Most of the anger left him once they were alone.

Methos stood up. Duncan should learn never to ask questions for which he didn't want to hear the answers for. "Let's go back to my room. I'm not comfortable in here," he said, skipping the almost question.

MacLeod looked relieved when he stopped in the doorway and saw the signs of a well lived-in room. The maid service had kept it from getting too bad, but there were enough bottles lying around to paint an accurate picture.

Methos turned, and started as Duncan was suddenly in his space again. He took in a quick breath, and Duncan kissed him. They didn't speak.

Methos didn't have much clothing to remove, and it took only three heartbeats more before their naked bodies were tangled on the bed.

MacLeod slipped inside him. Once fully inside MacLeod bent over him, and Methos could feel his kisses on the back of his neck. The man's body heat warmed his chilled skin and he groaned, mewing under him. He had to reach out and gripping the bedposts. As long as they never talked to each other and never got out of the bed the relationship might last forever.

He found himself giving himself more completely to MacLeod's pacing. Duncan was strong, and he had to regulate his breathing to the thrusting. He bucked, once, not trying to get away. MacLeod bent over him and laughed, quietly, "Going somewhere?" Duncan asked, voice strained.

Methos only shook his head, and then pressed his forehead into the pillows. When his lungs started screaming for air he turned his head and gasped; at least the need for oxygen cut down on his whimpering. It was a pathetic sound and he hated that he made it whenever Duncan touched him. He needed more control. He couldn't help himself once Duncan's hands came around his body, gathering him close and holding him still against MacLeod's own frantic tempo. Methos reared up, barely missing MacLeod with the back of his head.

Duncan fell asleep, still wrapped around him as if to keep Methos from leaving. Methos let him lie over him for a while, but then moved out from under him. The jet-lag must have hit Duncan hard.

He stayed quiet for a while, just watching MacLeod sleep, but became restless. He started a bath, getting into it before it was half full and letting the taps run while he soaked. When the tub was full, he turned off the water, lying back. The water cooled off and as he refilled the tub Amanda came back. He felt her in her room, but she didn't come over.

Her warning must have woke Duncan up, because Methos immediately heard the bed creak as someone got off of it. He deliberately splashed around in the tub, even though MacLeod must have known where he was. A few minutes later the door opened and Duncan came in wearing only his slacks and holding out a beer for Methos.

Methos took it, looking up at his lover. He really did love MacLeod, but there was still too much hurt between them. The sex would always be great, he didn't need the earlier demonstration to be reminded of that, but they had too far to go yet. He had been hurt, and wasn't ready to forgive yet.

"Methos..." Duncan began, sitting down on the edge of the tub. Methos took a drink from the bottle and slid down further into the water.

"Yes?" he asked, reluctantly.

"What happened between the two of you?"

"You don't want to know, MacLeod."

"That doesn't answer the question, Methos."

"It wasn't supposed to, MacLeod."

"Then you did."

He didn't answer; but looked up and met the sad brown eyes. "It was one night, MacLeod," Methos said.

MacLeod stood up. Methos sat up in the tub, going to say something else, but Duncan silenced him. "You lied to me."

"I did not. You never asked the question, you can't blame me for not answering it," Methos said, and then saw he wasn't reaching MacLeod. "It was only one night," he repeated.

Duncan left the bathroom. Methos followed him out. "There was no us, MacLeod, and she was even less attached. What did you want?" he asked, and then regretted it. He suddenly noticed he was naked and dripping, and the spots he dripped on the carpet were cold on his toes. MacLeod grabbed his shirt and buttoned it up, continuing to ignore him.

"Which part of leaving the country, returning my things and humiliating me in front of your student did I misread as you wanting to get back together?" Methos demanded, suddenly feeling ridiculous and covering it the only way he knew how. "Answer me, MacLeod. Was I supposed to stay faithful to your memory for the rest of my life?"

Duncan pushed past him on the way to the door. Methos was faster, though, and slammed the half-opened door over Duncan's shoulder. "It was a mistake. It will never happen again. But I am not sorry and you are over-reacting to the whole thing."

"See you around, Methos," Duncan snapped, brushing his hand off the door and leaving him, naked, in the entrance way. In any other state he would have gone after the Scot, but by the time he managed to find his jeans the elevator was gone. He shut the door behind him and slid down it, staring at his wet footprints on the carpet. Damn.

 

Methos lay on the bed, cradling his chin. He looked up from the talk show as Amanda walked in. He still felt miserable, but at least it didn't hurt to breathe any more. That was an improvement from an hour ago.

"Where's MacLeod?" Amanda asked, finally.

He went back to his show. "These people are fascinating. Are they getting paid for this?" he asked, ignoring the question. The show was entitled Roommates from Hell. He could be a part of the discussion. A chair was about to be thrown across the stage when Amanda stepped in front of it.

"Methos, where is Duncan?" she asked, again.

"I killed the bastard and threw his body out the window, didn't you hear the screams? He left me. The guy on the right used to keep his bacterial lab-projects in the fridge and then forget about it. If he was my roommate I'd run him through," he asked, not looking at her.

The television turned off behind her. "We have to talk," Amanda said, putting down the remote.

He went to grab it, but she moved it out of his reach and he didn't want to stand up. Besides, he recognized the tone. "About what?" he asked, guardedly.

"First of all, your hotel room. Why am I paying for it?"

"It's in your name?" he asked, hopefully.

She just looked at him.

Methos sighed. "Do you want cash, charge or rubles?"

"Cash."

Methos rubbed his face. "Fine. What else?"

"Why aren't you taking him back?"

His hand stopped over his eyes. He sighed. "Maybe you didn't hear me. He. Left. Me."

"Why?"

"I told him about us."

"And did it hurt him as much as you'd hoped it would?"

"Well, he didn't drown me in the tub when he had the chance. I took that as a good sign."

"Why are you running away from him?" Amanda asked, sitting down next to him.

"I am not running away from him. He ran away from me. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"If you kept quiet you'd be with him now."

"And perpetuate the myth that I am a quiet, well-behaved, and considerate kept-boy?" Methos demanded. "No thank you. Not anymore. He can't handle what I am. He doesn't want to handle what I am. Fuck him. I don't need him."

She touched his nose. He jerked back. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Just checking. I'd be careful if I were you."

"I am not made of wood, and if my conscience were a bug I'd step on it."

"Do you want me to go see him?" she asked, quietly.

He got off the bed, groaning at the strain on his abdomen. "Absolutely not. You are no longer the impartial third-party, my dear. You could be named as a correspondent, remember?"

 

Amanda entered the dojo. MacLeod glanced up for a moment, and then saw who it was. "Tell him he could have found a better messenger," MacLeod said, turning around.

"He didn't send me," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Duncan turned back. "What?"

"You actually expected to come begging after you, MacLeod? After what you put him through?"

"After what...he can't be serious. He wants me to go to him?"

"Hum...let's recount the score. You threw him out and then pushed him down and then kicked him, and he...what did he do, MacLeod? You can't even say he cheated. Who owes whom, Duncan?"

MacLeod went to say something, and then silenced. "Does he even know you're here?" he asked, eventually.

"I told you, no."

MacLeod's face softened slightly.

 

Methos felt the warning, and hesitated. But he was tired and if it wasn't either Amanda or MacLeod he could work off some of the frustration in his life. He stepped into the lobby, quickly scanning the room, but it was only MacLeod, lounging in one of the couches in front of the fake fire place. Duncan didn't stand up as he entered it, and he made it to the elevators before Duncan climbed to his feet. "Adam, wait," he called.

Methos turned around, not liking that name coming from MacLeod. If he were Adam, Duncan would be madly in love with him in a house with a picket fence. He sighed, but backed up against the wall as Duncan approached.

"Don't," Methos said, quietly.

"Don't what?"

He didn't feel like waltzing with MacLeod and he felt safer fully clothed in a lobby with of other people. The elevator came, but he stepped aside as Duncan tried to push him in with his body. "MacLeod, not tonight. I have a head-ache," he said, turning his face away.

"Adam," Duncan said, and then looked around. He stepped into Methos' space. "Methos, please," he whispered. "I just want to talk."

"Right. We start out talking and then I usually end up...not tonight, MacLeod."

"What do you want? Is it about Amanda? Forget about it. I already have. It was a mistake and even if you don't admit to it I know you are sorry that it ever happened."

"You are allowing me to forget about it? As usual, MacLeod, you are too kind. I never said I was sorry about it. Once again I managed to earn Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod's forgiveness for past wrong-doings. Do you think that makes us even? Do you think that makes your wrong-doings forgotten about? Go home, MacLeod. Leave me alone. I'm tired and now I really do have a head-ache. Go share some of your forgiving nature with someone who actually wants that part of you."

MacLeod grabbed his arm. Methos glanced down to it in surprise, because for once it didn't immediately make him want the Scot. He must be more tired than he thought, because his anger always seemed to fuel his need for the man.

"What do you want, Methos?" Duncan asked, remembering to lower his voice only on the last word. "Tell me, it's yours."

"I can't tell you, MacLeod. I want to...I don't want to be your boy. I want more than that," Methos said, slumping against the wall. MacLeod still held onto his arm for a moment, and the pain from his shoulder seemed muted. Duncan let him go and he crossed his arms over his chest. "A while ago I could have answered that. I wanted you, MacLeod. Now I want more."

"Is that it?" Duncan asked, voice thick. "Are we done?"

Methos sighed. "I am not going to invite you to my hotel room, and I am not going to go home with you," he said, quietly. "So we're done. For today."

"What about tomorrow?" Duncan asked.

Methos looked him up and down, and then rested his head against the wall. He half-smiled, but it was so tight it didn't relax the Scot. "Tomorrow...I might want to play. I don't know yet."

"Is this all just a game to you?" MacLeod asked. He was inches from becoming angry.

Methos moved from the wall and went to step past Duncan. In the public it was the closest intimacy he could afford, "No one is making you play it, MacLeod," he whispered. Duncan let him go.

His opinion of the Scot lowered slightly later that evening as he returned to the hotel. It had it had been his intention earlier to go up to his room and sleep, but his exit had demanded that he walk away from the elevators, not to them. He spent most of his night at a bar, alone, drinking beer from sweaty bottles.

Amanda was in her room. He should have walked past it to his own, but didn't. She answered it, cautiously. "Good evening," she said.

That startled him. It was one of the first time any of them had actually answered the door with a greeting instead of some demand. "Good evening," he returned.

They waited a moment, and then two. Finally she had enough and let him into her room. He walked past her, going through her mini-bar. He took out another bottle, and opened it. "What did he say?" she asked, finally.

Methos took a long swallow and put the bottle on the bed-side table, "I don't want to talk about it."

"That bad?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. With the beer in his system he wasn't thinking. He found himself going to where she stood hesitantly in the arch of the entrance way, and then they were kissing.

After a moment she pushed away. "Stop it."

"Why?"

"Because you are trying to hurt him."

"This isn't about him," he said, trying to start the kiss again.

She wouldn't let him. She pushed him away again, this time more forcefully. "The hell it isn't. Methos you're drunk and you should be sleeping alone tonight."

"I should be doing a lot of things right now. And sleeping alone is boring."

"Is that what you boys talked about tonight? Are you taking the car out again?"

He stepped away, grabbing his beer. "The hell I am," he snapped, slamming the adjoining door. The darkness of his room made him think. The hell he wasn't. That was it exactly. MacLeod should have known better. What was it about the bloody Scot that made Methos want to hurt him so much? MacLeod was a boyscout, what the hell was he doing chasing after someone with Methos' morals? He shook his head. Or lack thereof.

 

The next morning Methos went down for some coffee when the clerk waved to him. "Mr. Pierson?" he asked. Methos nodded. "This came for you about an hour ago, sir," the boy said. Methos took the heavy envelope and opened it. A set of keys fell into his palm. They were marked with MacLeod's block print. Barge, Loft, Car. He stopped momentarily on that one. It was close. Duncan was beginning to understand, but Methos closed his hand over the keys, squeezing so hard they almost cut into his skin. He wasn't in any position to accept them.

His last stop was the police station. After taking the post-it notes off the ring he handed them over to the woman at the desk. "Some guy in an old Thunderbird dropped these on the street," he said, giving a vague enough description that eventually they would track MacLeod down. He didn't even want to see the Scot. That would hurt too much.

Two days later Duncan stopped practicing as the police officer entered the Dojo. "Are you Mr. MacLeod?" the officer asked.

"I am," Duncan said, wiping his hand. They shook.

"You are a very lucky man, Mr. MacLeod. Someone found your keys on the street. It took a few days to find you."

"My keys?" Duncan asked. His chest suddenly felt very heavy. The officer produced the ring he had made for Methos. The man must have seen Duncan's face.

"Aren't these yours, sir?" he asked.

"No. They're mine. I gave them to a friend. I would have thought he'd be more careful with them," Duncan said flatly. He held out his hand and took the keys back. Maybe Methos really was sick of him. He threw the keys across the dojo. Methos had said he wanted to play. He didn't understand, but his lack of comprehension didn't stop his need for the old man.

 

Methos signed the courier's paper and accepted the package. He opened it, skimming through the ownership papers. Well, 50 percent ownership. It must have hurt MacLeod to give that much up to him, but it didn't matter. This was not about things. It never was.

He went to the loft to return the envelope in person. Duncan felt him and grinned, but the smile died when Methos threw the papers at him. "Do you think this is what it's about?" Methos demanded. It didn't hurt to see MacLeod. He didn't automatically picture MacLeod losing his last fight. His thighs didn't tingle as Duncan bent down to pick the papers up. All of these were very good signs.

Duncan caught his arm. "Isn't it?"

"Let go of me."

The hand only tightened. Methos exploded, pushing him so hard that Duncan fell back against the mats. Duncan actually fell. It made Methos furious that MacLeod hadn't even been expecting the attack. You forget me, MacLeod, he thought darkly. "Never touch me again," Methos said in a very low voice.

Duncan pushed to his feet, and they stared at each other. Methos shook his head and turned around to leave. There was nothing left to be said. "Wait," Duncan called.

Except for that, of course. It took effort not to slow down. When it worked, resolve was a good thing to have.

"Please," Duncan said.

Too bad it didn't always work. Methos stopped at the pain in his voice. Don't do this, he silently cursed himself, but turned around anyway.

"What!" he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Duncan's eyes met with his, and the pain they showed cut into him. He couldn't make himself look away.

"Tell me what you want," Duncan said, thickly. His voice caught and broke over the words.

That was unfair. Methos bit his lip to keep from saying anything. The skin broke, which filled his mouth with blood. When he swallowed his throat hurt.

"You want me to sweat it out. Fine. I've sweated. Methos--"

I'm not worth it, MacLeod, Methos thought. Let me walk away. It's over. He didn't let Duncan's pain hurt him. Methos forced himself to look away, which made Duncan stop talking. Methos shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and left.

Duncan watched him leave, and let the papers slip from his hands. He walked over them, distracted. Things. Belongings. What was he thinking? The old man didn't need possessions. He was an idiot that he didn't see that. Methos asked for trust and he gave him the pink slip of an old car.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang. "He's leaving," Amanda said.

Duncan was silent for a very short moment. "Stall him."

"Stall Methos?" Amanda asked, confused.

"Give me an hour. Give me two. Amanda--"

"He asked me not to interfere."

"Forget what he told you. Amanda, do this for me."

She sighed. "I'll try," she said, unconvincingly. "Spago, one hour."

"Make it two."

"One and a half," she said.

Amanda let herself into his room. "Going somewhere?" she asked, quietly.

"Leave me alone, woman," Methos said, not looking at her. He didn't mention the night before and neither did she. He liked the arrangement. Not that it made him stop gathering up what few belongings he had. Maybe in fifty years he'd show up again at Duncan's doorstep for a beer and pretend that this decade had never happened. He was good at not thinking about things. All he needed was distance and beer. He could buy both of those.

"Methos...let's go for lunch. We can talk."

"I'm not hungry," he said, not stopping. Duncan's eyes came to him again. He had caused the hurt. He could have gone to MacLeod, taken his head in his hands, and showed him exactly how sorry he was, but it wasn't his move to make. They would have picked themselves off the mats eventually and nothing would have changed.

"Never turn down a free lunch."

"Did MacLeod specify which restaurant to take me to?" Methos demanded, coldly. "I'm tired of hurting him because I can't change who I am. It's not going to get any better, Amanda."

She ignored the last part. "You have my permission to run, but wait until after lunch. Please."

That stopped him. "Since when have I ever needed your permission?" Methos demanded, coldly.

She was thinking fast. He admired that in her, at the very least. "Since today," she said, grabbing hold of his arm. Methos let himself be dragged away.

 

The woman looked up and smiled. Duncan didn't think it would be that hard to get what he needed.

"Hello," the young woman said. "Are you here for lessons?"

"Sort of," he said. "I have a small problem."

"Don't think of it like that. There are no problem dogs. Only problem owners."

"I have just figured that out. See...I recently have made a horrible mistake, and I desperately need you to help me get out of it."

"What kind of dog?"

"We're not exactly sure of its parentage."

"Mixed breeds make the best pets."

"This one is the exception," he said, smiling ruefully, and rubbed his neck. "May I be honest with you?" he asked in a conspiratory tone.

The girl leaned forward, intrigued. She nodded.

Duncan smiled at that, but inside cringed at the lie he needed to tell. Methos would never find out, of course, but it seemed like he was about to betray a trust. "My girlfriend has dumped me and I need her back," he said in a rush.

"You should never buy a pet to keep a relationship afloat," she said, not quite catching on. He didn't blame her.

"That's not the problem. She says I don't trust her. She says I should give her more of me. I have to show that I can be taught new tricks. I need a favour."

She was suddenly very nervous. "This isn't...illegal is it?"

"Not in this state," he said, guardedly. "I need a diploma saying I have been taught obedience...I'm against a dead line. Her plane leaves in a hour."

"Plane? Where is she going?"

"If I knew for sure, I'd be less worried."

"So you came to a dog obedience school," she said, cocking her head to one side. She obviously couldn't tell if that was romantic or just sick. "What name do you want the diploma in?" she asked, finally.

He smiled. "That in itself is a long story."

 

Methos rapidly grew tired of Amanda's subtle attempts to draw the lunch out. The wine was excellent, but after the week he had had, the low alcohol content failed to give him a buzz. The pasta was also very good, but he associated Italian with Duncan and it didn't help. Finally he crossed his arms. "I don't know which plane I'm getting on, but I'm pretty sure it's leaving soon," he said.

She looked up, desperately. "Ten more minutes."

"I thought you said you wouldn't interfere."

"But...the voice...the eyes. You try saying no."

Methos was silence for a moment. She had him there. He was fairly sure that that was how it had all started. "You talked over the phone. You couldn't have seen his eyes," he pointed out, coldly.

"I know what they must have looked like," she said, not looking at him.

They were still there when the courier came to the table. "Mr. Pierson?" he asked.

Well, that one was easy enough. "No," Methos said. This was Duncan's final play, he thought. More things? It made it easier to leave knowing that MacLeod really didn't understand.

"Adam," Amanda said, warningly.

"All right. Okay."

"Are you?" the courier said, suddenly nervous. "Can I see some ID?"

He pulled out his passport. The photo wasn't flattering, but then he wasn't looking his best in person, either. He signed his name, and took the box.

A moment later, only the chair kept him from rolling on the floor. "My god, the boy has style," he said, once he stopped laughing He tried to remember he was leaving the Scot, but it didn't change the fact that Duncan had flair.

"What?" Amanda demanded.

Methos grinned and shuffled the diploma in amongst the other sheets, and hid the other contents of the box. "Nothing," he said, quickly.

"What?"

"Do you really want to see?" he asked, placing both hands over the box. Defending it.

"You are very annoying. Tell me," her voice rose with uncertainty.

"I'd call that a favour," he smirked.

"Absolutely not!"

He took another peek into the box and shrugged. "Your call."

"If you think you're manipulating me, it's not working."

"If you say so," Methos said, and stood up.

"Give it to me," she demanded.

"Your favour," he demanded back.

"You've already had that. Let me see the damn box."

Ow. He felt scored against. "Well then, you owe me, don't you?" Methos parried. She stood up as well, grabbing for the box, but he held it over her head.

"You're making a scene," she snapped, trying to reach it.

"I'm not the one jumping and down," Methos pointed out flatly, and then woomphed as she elbowed him. His body half curled up, and she grabbed the box as he bent over.

She turned around, looking inside. "He's never let me use one of those on him before!"

"I should certainly hope not. A leash is privilege, not a right," he said, trying to straighten his body. It didn't quite work, yet.

She took out the diploma and read it, "Insensitive Bastard. Very nice touch," she said, laughing.

"I thought so. I guess I am rubbing off on him."

"You give him enough opportunity," Amanda said, almost snarky. He forgave her, though. Maybe MacLeod was rubbing off on him as well.

She had enough time to read it. "It's mine," he said, snatching it back. The page with the fax number fluttered out. "Here we go. Now for the abject humiliation."

"What do you call the dog collar?"

"A very good start."

"You scare me," she said, but there was respect in her voice.

"Sometimes I scare myself," he said, modestly. Duncan just earned himself a second chance.

Methos and Amanda had to return to the hotel to use the fax machine. After a long minute Methos found exactly what he wanted to say. "Well what?" he sent.

The response was almost immediate. "Am I forgiven?"

That was it? That was Duncan's sense of drama? He snorted. "No," he sent.

"Methos?" a very quick return.

Methos waited, and waited and waited a bit more. "Yes?"

"What do you want?"

"Sweat," he wrote. With Amanda watching he refused to blush at past memories. That was not a sexual reference. He steeled himself.

"I've sweated."

"Enough?" Methos didn't want to make it too easy on the Scot.

"Methos. Please."

Duncan was getting exasperated. He could feel it. He smiled. "Okay."

"Okay, what?" Duncan sent.

"Negotiate." Methos took pleasure in writing the word.

"Name the time and place."

"Tomorrow. 7. Loft."

"Are you paying buy the word?" Duncan's fax asked.

Methos sent back a blank sheet of paper and turned off the fax machine.

Amanda stared at him. "Did you enjoy that?"

"Immensely, thank you," he grinned at her.

 

Methos woke up alone in his bed, and threw off the blankets over his body. He was too hot to get back to sleep. He sat up and the darkness and the silence in the hotel room made him feel his pulse in the back of his throat. He stood up, unwrapped a glass from the sterile paper wrap and filled it up with tap-water. It didn't slack any of his thirst, but the thought of a beer made the sourness in his mouth seem to almost double. He poured the rest of the glass back down the sink and went to go find some clean clothing to put on.

The sky was a hazy orange as the clouds reflected the lights from the city below them. It was a dirty colour and the air felt thick and wet. Methos walked past several bars, but most of them were closed or closing down. Not that he wanted to stop. It was late enough that most of the criminal element had given up trying to find the rich easy marks on the streets, and the rest of the souls he past were probably just as desperate as he was.

He knew he was heading straight for the loft, and knew he wasn't kidding himself, but as he let himself in he tried to reconsider what he was about to do. This was a mistake. He stopped far enough away so that Duncan would never know he was there...and then sighed. He touched his wallet, feeling the slightly pebbled cover of his passport behind it. He could just leave. MacLeod would never find him. Not if Methos didn't want to be found. If he didn't leave then he might never be able to, and that scared him.

The hell of it would be that MacLeod would understand. Duncan knew Methos' nature too well. MacLeod understood it, and was willing to love him despite the fear of waking up to an empty bed one morning. Methos looked up again, and was surprised to see the light on in the loft. He quickly took a step back, but he couldn't feel anything, so he knew Duncan couldn't sense him, either.

Methos sighed, and went inside. He let himself into the loft and Duncan let the sword slip from his fingers, and rolled onto his back. "Your fax said tomorrow," he said, staring at the ceiling.

Methos had done enough of staring at ceilings in the past week. He stripped down and then slipped into the bed, lifting up the covers to lay down next to MacLeod. Duncan's body still radiated heat, and it suddenly made him realize how cold he was. Duncan turned to him, opening his mouth to speak, but Methos was faster. He met Duncan's lips, which silenced him. The Scot understood.

He explored Duncan's body like it was their first night together, and then blushed when he remembered their first night. This was much more intimate. Even his promise to himself to keep quiet couldn't control the sound of delight in finding his tattoo in its place. He hadn't seen it in the hotel room. It would have appealed to MacLeod's symbolic nature to cut it out himself, but the M was still there. He slid down Duncan's body until his lips reached it, and then kissed it. As he ran his tongue up and down the beautiful lines, Duncan's pulse pounded under his lips. Methos smiled.

"Methos, please," Duncan groaned. Methos pulled away from the body for a moment to look back to Duncan's face. The grimace on it looked painful.

Methos' smile widened, pulling himself up and over the man's lower belly, to rest his elbows beside Duncan's face. Duncan groaned again, and Methos felt the body move under him, slightly. Duncan kept himself passive, and the restraint it took was admirable. If he wanted, Duncan was willing, and that in itself was power. He moved against the golden flesh, lowering his body so that his cock was trapped between both of their bodies. He pressed his forehead against the beautiful shoulder. Duncan actually whimpered under him. The sound was so strange, so foreign; Methos stopped the gentle circular motion.

It had been his intention to leave at that moment. He wanted to show MacLeod that he could take the relationship or leave it without the slightest hesitation. Unfortunately, he realized that he could never, ever do that to MacLeod. It would kill the Scot. It would probably kill them both. He nuzzled Duncan's neck and let the happiness of Duncan being alive fill his body. Despite this, he pulled away. He was in past his head. Drowning. And pleased to be so.

Duncan's eyes flew opened. "Where are you going?" he asked, voice thick with panic as much as with desire. But MacLeod didn't grab Methos' arm. It had to be the first time. If Duncan had changed that much, the rest of the way wasn't going to be too hard. Methos sat up, and a moment later Duncan's chest was pressed against his back. Methos kept himself away for three heartbeats, his beats, not Duncan's, and leaned back into the frantic body. Duncan took his weight, wrapping his arms around his chest. For a moment he lay there, completely passive and enjoying every second, and then spoke for the first time.

"If you want me I'm yours," he said, making his voice flat on purpose. He let resignation and desperation he didn't feel enter his voice.

Duncan stiffened his body against him, and let him go. "That's all you have to say?" he asked, coldly.

Methos pulled away as if he didn't understand. "What else is there?" he asked, almost sadly. His skin cooled from the distance, and he started to get out of the bed when Duncan moved against him a final time. MacLeod's right hand covered his heart, while his forehead pressed into his shoulder bone.

"I love you," Duncan whispered. His voice broke. Methos could feel the man's breath hot and moist against his skin, but didn't move. The arm wrapped around his body tightened almost enough to be painful. Another moment of this was all he could stand, but something made him wait. "I love you, don't go."

Methos could feel the single sob shake Duncan's body. With the movement against his back, he decided enough with the games. He reached up, taking the hand off his chest. MacLeod allowed him to peel it off, ready to let Methos go if he still wanted to, but then didn't understand as Methos slid around in his grasp, moving under him.

Duncan pulled back; Methos' gift started him. Methos parted his lips, slightly, giving all the invitation Duncan needed. Duncan's lips caressed his body. He wouldn't call them kisses. It was as if Duncan thought his skin was made of delicate ice crystals that would melt with the slightest heat. He...suffered...through the caresses until the torture became too much for him. He brought his hand up and scratched Duncan's back. It wasn't enough to draw blood, but it was enough to gather Duncan's attention.

MacLeod laughed, kissing his mouth for the first time. Methos clenched his teeth together for a second, forcing Duncan to beg permission. The tongue slipped past his lips, lapping at his eyeteeth. When he opened under the assault Duncan's response was almost slavishly grateful.

Methos threw his head back against the pillows as Duncan broke from his mouth and kissed the ridge over his eyes, cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose. "Methos...I want...please..." came out between the kisses.

He filled in the blanks himself and lightly pushed against the body pinning him down. This time Duncan almost jumped off him as he repositioned himself. Duncan pulled away for a moment. The oil Duncan used was scented with sandalwood, and he twisted under Duncan as one finger slipped inside him, spreading the slipperiness. He brought his knee up, and a moment later Duncan was inside him.

Methos heard himself whimper before realizing the sound had escaped. Duncan was in his hair, breathing words he wasn't sure were meant to be heard. Love and faithfulness. In any language the words were beautiful. He laughed, kissing along the length of the forearm he had pressed his cheek against without realizing it.

When Duncan reached down and took him in his hand that was still slippery from the oil, Methos lost it. He bucked, hard, and heard Duncan's gasp. Duncan fell over him, and Methos didn't mind the added weight.

Unfortunately it meant waking the Scot up as he slid away a while later to grope for his clothes. "Going somewhere?" MacLeod asked, in the darkness.

"Cover your eyes," Methos said, out of concern, and the switched on the light. He finally found his other sock. He tugged it on, reaching for his jeans.

"What are you doing? Spend the night. I thought--"

Methos turned to him, smiling slightly. He stood, doing up his jeans, and then knelt down beside the bed. "We aren't ready to spend the night yet. We still have to talk," he said, kissing MacLeod's forehead. It took all the strength he had to get up and walk away, but it wasn't quite finished yet. MacLeod had to understand.

"I'm ready now. Talk. I'll listen," Duncan said. His voice was getting desperate.

Methos smoothed Duncan's hair with his fingers. Beautiful child. "Not like this," he said, quietly. "You are far too much of a distraction for me. You have to play the game."

Duncan sat up as he stood up and pulled his sweater on. "I'm sick of games," Duncan said, voice going back to normal. His eyes weren't. They still had pain in them.

Methos caresses the Scot's cheeks for a moment. "This one is almost over," he said, quietly. He carried his boots out to the elevator and pulled down the gate. That didn't hurt...too much. He was kidding himself. He slumped against the wall of the elevator and felt Duncan's presence get weaker and weaker. He was exhausted.

Amanda opened her door as he stepped off the elevator, and he went into her room without speaking. He knew what he must have smelled like, but suddenly it didn't matter. He could still catch the scent of sandalwood and that was all he cared about. Without speaking he went through her mini-fridge and took her last bottle of beer. He cracked it open, throwing the cap away.

"How did it go?" she asked, needlessly.

He took a long pull from the bottle and smiled at her. The muscle aches from the strain had vanished a long time ago, but the peaceful just-been-laid feeling stayed in his joints. It was relaxing. "It went," he said with a slight smile.

 

Duncan put out the bottle of wine. He was nervous. Seven o'clock came, but was still alone. Methos wasn't usually late. At twenty past he heard the elevator come up. "What took you so long?" he called.

Methos threw a set of keys at him. "Come on," he said, not stepping out of elevator.

MacLeod caught them. "Where are we going?"

"Is it important?" Methos asked, reaching up to pull down the gate.

"Wait," Duncan called, grabbing his jacket. "Just...wait."

Methos said nothing as Duncan pulled into the traffic. "Where are we going?" Duncan asked, again.

"Just get out of the city," Methos said, slouching down on his side.

For the first while driving in the early evening traffic took most of MacLeod's concentration. Eventually the traffic thinned out and they were on a highway up the coast. "What is it?" MacLeod asked, finally.

"We have to talk and I don't want to look at you," Methos said, quietly. To prove his point he stared straight ahead.

"Why not?"

"It's easier for me. I don't...I'm not...I don't have to be here." This was a mistake. He rested his head against the back of the seat. He should have just left. The dog collar wasn't that funny.

"I know that," MacLeod said, softly. He took his hand off the gear shift for a moment, letting it rest on Methos' knee. Methos lifted it up and put it back on the shift. "No," he said, quietly.

"So talk," Duncan said. The sun was setting down into the ocean and he took a moment to adjust the sun visor.

"Why did you leave?" Methos asked, quietly. It wasn't a whine. Very, very close, but not a whine.

MacLeod glanced at him, not answering. They drove for a while before Methos tried again. "Did you want out of the relationship that much?"

"I was angry and I wasn't thinking. It was what you would have done."

Methos paused. "You aren't me," he almost whispered. Silence. The sky was now a brilliant red, and it reflected into the ocean. Methos shook his head. He had wasted enough time. "I fucked up," he said, quickly so the words would hurt less. "I..."' suddenly the whole car thing seemed absolutely ridiculous. He waited a while, changing his stare from the ocean to the glove box. "I took the car to hurt you because...I wanted to hurt you. I was tired at getting yelled at like I was a child. You don't have to school me, MacLeod."

MacLeod knew enough to keep quiet. Methos said nothing for a very long time as the sun continued to set. The red lost some of its brilliance in the ocean and settled into a more mellow colour. The other half of the sky turned a darker shade of blue and the first of the stars could be seen. Finally he exhaled sharply. "I hate that I can't seem to walk away from you. It scares me. You scare me. I'm...terrified that you are going to lose your head and I'll lose you. And I hate myself because I can't seem to think about that on any level but how it affects me," Methos said, and then quietly sighed.

"Let's face it, MacLeod. You don't need me. You shouldn't want me. You'll forgive me this once for baiting you, but what about the second time? The fifth? Eventually we are going to be right back here. I can't...I don't want to deal with that. You are too good for--"

MacLeod slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop jerked Methos against the seatbelt and he cursed. "Don't say it," Duncan said.

"Me," Methos said it.

"Methos, look at me."

"No," Methos said, quietly, deliberately staring out the window. The slight waves lapping onto the beach still reflected the last of the sunset colours as the froth broke onto the sand.

MacLeod put the car into gear again, and they drove up the coast a while longer. Nothing was said. Methos felt exhausted, but didn't complain as MacLeod pulled into a motel/restaurant located on the side of the highway.

Once inside the restaurant, they both ordered the special and sat down, staring at each other.

"What do you want, MacLeod?" Methos asked, quietly. "I'm not going to change. You should stop waiting for me to conform to the lover you deserve."

"So you are dumping me to protect me from myself. Bullshit, Methos. Bullshit. Stop running away."

"I'm still here," Methos said, quietly.

"For how long?"

Methos didn't answer for the longest time. "You couldn't go to sleep with me without waking up in the middle of the night wondering if I was gone. How can you call that a relationship? You don't trust me. You may, on some level, but you will always be afraid of the empty pillow in the middle of the night."

"Okay. I will always worry about you leaving. But that doesn't mean I don't trust you."

Methos just looked at him.

MacLeod tried something else. He took a deep breath, "You wanted to hurt me," he said, quietly. Methos half nodded. "I wanted to hurt you, too." Duncan waited for Methos to say something else, but when it didn't come, he took another breath and continued. "If I could take it back I would have. I didn't...I knew how much asking for forgiveness takes for you, but I didn't care. I wanted to hurt you. I've...you've...I felt like you have guided me along for such a long time and I was sick of it."

Duncan was looking at him without seeing him. He leaned forward, barely able to reach his boot lace. "Guided?" Methos asked, tilting his head to the side.

"What would you call it?" Duncan asked. His eyes focused on him for the first time. Methos leaned back in his seat. The sword kept his back straight.

"Manipulated," Methos said, simply. MacLeod didn't have much of a chance and Methos was willing to admit it.

Duncan nodded once, slowly. "Manipulated, then. And you aren't the easiest house guest," he continued.

"I never said I was," Methos said. "But I thought I was more than a house guest."

Duncan winced at the slip, obviously unaware Methos wasn't keeping score. "You are. Of course you are."

It was Methos' turn to nod. The waiter came back with their drinks, and the conversation broke down for a few moments. When Methos looked up again he saw real pain in Duncan's eyes.

"I...I worry about you. I never realized you felt the same way," Duncan continued blindly. Methos slipped his foot out of his boot, but hesitated when he saw Duncan's face.

"You didn't?" Methos asked, carefully, and then suddenly realized how impassively he must have looked to the Scot during his own anxiety attacks. Damn. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"Everything is a game to you," Duncan said. The pain in his voice was obvious

"Not everything," Methos said, taking another drink, but not looking up.

MacLeod reached across the table and took his hand from the beer bottle. "This isn't a game and you aren't playing, are you?" Duncan asked, finally.

Methos looked up, meeting MacLeod's eyes. He only shook his head.

"I didn't know," Duncan said. It sounded lame. It sounded pathetic. Methos' lip twitched, once.

"I didn't tell you," Methos said, eventually.

"Why not?" Duncan asked.

Methos shrugged. "It was a weakness," he said, quietly. "You came back late once and I was...paralyzed with fear. You...don't seem to care about your own head. That's just you, that's who you are, but you don't take a sword with you on your runs, you always go the same time of day and I'm willing to bet you never change your route. If I wanted to take you that's when I would go for you," he said.

Duncan nodded slowly, "You're right," he said. "But I am not going to stop my runs to make you feel better."

"I never asked you to. Just...It's too much to ask if you carry a gun, right?" he asked, hopefully.

"It's against the rules, Methos," MacLeod said, gently.

Methos looked up, pained. "So is going after you unarmed," he said.

Duncan sighed. "I'm not going to carry a gun," he said, finally. "But I am not going to throw my head away to anyone. I am careful, believe it or not. You have to trust me."

Methos winced at the words. "I trust you," he said, quietly.

"Good. Because I trust you, too."

Methos half smiled. "Do you really?" he asked, quietly.

Duncan held out the set of keys he had made. "Everything that I am, Methos. I swear to you. It's yours."

Methos took the keys, hesitantly. There was a new key on the ring, but it had no teeth to it. "This one?" he asked, holding it out.

MacLeod took his hand, enclosing it and the keys and brought it to his lips. "That's to me," he said. He was almost blushing and absolutely refused to look Methos in the eye.

Methos lifted his chin. "Thank you," he said, simply. He would have done much more, but they were in a restaurant and it would have to wait for the motel room. He'd see to it that Duncan would be in no condition to drive.

"Are we done with this?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm happy if you are," MacLeod said, moving his chin off Methos' hand.

Methos nodded once, and then let his voice go harsh. "It's about time," he snapped. To soften the words he stretched his foot out, catching the inside of Duncan's pant leg with his toes. He caressed what he could reach.

MacLeod jerked back at either the caress or the sound of his voice. "Methos?" he asked.

"I have some other issues to contend with."

"Regarding?" MacLeod's voice was slightly wary, slightly hopeful and more than a little jealous. If Duncan had started with the foot Methos would be at his mercy. But MacLeod played by the rules, and this was Methos' move.

Methos let his foot creep up to the beginning of Duncan's thigh. "Lots of things," he said, raising an eyebrow. But he knew this not the time for serious issues. That would come later. Duncan would agree to anything now, and he couldn't let himself take advantage. Yet.

"Name it," Duncan said, keeping his face perfectly straight.

Another challenge. Methos loved the other man. But Duncan would break, nonetheless. "Anything?" Methos asked, moving his foot up to the back of MacLeod's knee. Duncan tensed his leg, but didn't fight the contact.

"Anything," Duncan agreed. His face was beginning to smile, but then the Scot realized it and the deadpan was back. Methos wormed his toes between the hard thigh and the chair.

"Instant coffee," Methos said. The toes worked. Duncan's face was definitely growing pinker and...were those beads of sweat starting?

"If you want," Duncan promised.

Methos moved up an inch. "My own space for CD's."

"I'll put in an extra shelf."

"Maid service?" Methos asked. That could be pushing it.

Duncan made a face at the thought of a stranger working in the barge. Methos let his foot pull away slightly. "Maid service?" he repeated, carefully.

"Yes, fine. What ever," Duncan said, suddenly desperate.

Methos smiled. Dinner arrived at the same time his foot reached the groin. "We'd like this to go," Duncan said, not letting the plates touch the table. Methos' smile grew larger. He stopped on the way out the door long enough to retie his bootlace. Duncan waited impatiently by the door. This was going to be good.

By unspoken mutual decision they decided not to touch each other until they reached the motel room. Part of that was to prolong the tension; the other part was to avoid an accident and spoiling the game. And there would be a game. By the time they reached the room, Methos' body ached from the knees up. Once in the entrance way, Duncan locked the door and cornered Methos.

"Do you want to play a game?" Duncan asked.

"I thought you were sick of games," Methos said, just to be spiteful. Duncan nibbled on his ear instead of answering, and all of a sudden Methos remembered his lines. "What kind of game?" Methos asked.

"I don't think you could keep yourself quiet," Duncan said, still pressing into Methos' body.

Methos could smell the man through the expensive aftershave. It made him dizzy.

"What do I get if I win?" Methos asked, smiling. This was the happy ending he had been running from. He was such an idiot.

"Me," Duncan was smiling back at him. It suddenly seemed very important neither of them be the first to expose teeth.

"I could have you without playing," Methos said. It was hard to do anything but smile gently when his lips were clamped shut after speaking.

Duncan's white teeth flashed him. "Really?" he asked, deviating from the script, somewhat.

"Really," Methos said, waiting patiently for the next line.

"Remarkably simple game--" Duncan began.

Methos didn't let him finish. "I want more," Methos jumped in, grinning as well. He couldn't wait to say that.

"Would you care to clarify that a bit?" Duncan asked, quietly.

Methos had enough of the game. He wrapped his arms around Duncan, and kissed him hard enough to make the Scot stand back. "Ten," he said, pulling back slightly from the kiss.

"Three," Duncan said, taking back the lost step.

Methos yanked back as the contact brushed his cock. "Nine," he whispered, barely escaping Duncan's mouth.

"Four," Duncan said, and then turned his attention to his shoulder.

"Six," Methos countered. Who the hell taught Duncan to explore other people's skin with such grace?

"Deal," Duncan whispered into his shoulder.

"Done," Methos said, and smiled.

Duncan led him to the bed, and under his amused gaze Methos took off his clothes. Are you enjoying this, MacLeod? he thought The Scot was naive if he thought Methos couldn't control himself, but Methos was willing to play along. Duncan kissed him again, and the silk of his shirt made him shudder as it brushed against the bare skin of his chest. Without words, Methos lay back on the bed. He was completely under Duncan's control and very satisfied to be there.

Methos should have realized that Duncan was sneaky bastard. Either that or Methos really was rubbing off on the boy. He didn't know how long Duncan's lips and tongue suckled and nibbled on his pulse points. It seemed like forever. He clamped down on his throat muscles, absolutely forbidding them to make a sound. For the first while, he actually convinced himself he was going to win. Duncan climbed over his body, taking off his shirt and suddenly Methos wanted a blindfold. That was not playing fair. He reached out to touch the offering.

Duncan laughed, "Uh, uh, uh," he said.

Methos almost voiced his protest. He clenched his jaw just in time and smiled. Bright boy. This was starting to be fun. He sighed like it was all boring him and turned his head away.

The tongue came out. It snaked down Methos' neck, over the clavicle, and down between the individual ribs. Methos was forced to work his jaw a couple of times, but did so silently. Duncan glanced up, eyes dancing with his own excitement. It was a waiting game and neither one of them minded. He caught himself licking his lips. Duncan's mouth over his nipple was torture. He squirmed, but made himself stop when he felt how easy it was to make his breathing touch his vocal cords. Honestly and truly, that was not fair. Duncan froze for a moment, obviously assuming that that was all he needed to do, and Methos almost crowed in victory before remembering himself. He slammed his heel against the mattress in frustration.

The motion drew Duncan's eyes. When he looked back up to Methos, he was smiling again. His tongue moved down to his groin, and he was about to protest the boundary lines, when he felt the lips on the spot where the tattoo was on Duncan's body. Oh, no! He squirmed again, trying to buck off his tormentor. Duncan only came down heavier on his body. For a moment, a heartbeat, really, neither of them moved nor breathed. Then, teasingly, Duncan sighed on the empty spot, moving his lips to kiss the bare skin.

"oh"

They both stopped at the sound. Methos sat up, ready to deny it had ever happened, and then saw Duncan's smile. "Ohh," he sighed again, just so that there would be no mistake.


	4. After Gardening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A PWP between Gardening and my new series. It's basically just a cute love scene...with spanking,of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sort of an Epilogue to the Garden thing. Actually it was the beginning of my new series, but I took it in a different direction and this little scene got stranded with nowhere to go. The promised MethosTorture is not here, folks, sorry. That won't be until part two of the new series. This has been beta'd, thank you, Ellen! (That woman is a goddess, don't let her tell you otherwise) And thanks, Olympia, you deserve a hug from all of us this week.
> 
> As usual, these are not my toys and I took them without permission. They belong to Rysher and Co., who are really lucky bastards. No harm done, at least not after Methos' bum got better. But he did ask for it.

The bed was empty. Duncan knew that before he was fully awake. He sat up, panicking before he felt the very weak presence from outside. Once he was awake for a moment he saw that Methos had thrown his jacket and his sword over his side of the bed -- Methos' way of saying he was near-by.

Duncan dressed and climbed up to the barge's deck. Methos looked up from where he sat cross-legged and shook his head before going back to staring across to the other side of the river. "I haven't run away," Methos said, quietly. "Would you like to tether me from now on?"

Duncan shook his head, and the relief made his head feel light. "You just frightened me."

Methos shifted over, and MacLeod sat down beside him. "I couldn't sleep," Methos whispered.

MacLeod put his arm over his shoulders, and Methos lay back into the solid body. "You're cold," Duncan whispered instead of questioning him further. He knew that Methos loved him, but it didn't stop the panic that came in the middle of the night.

Duncan began nuzzling Methos behind the ear. Methos turned his head slightly to make it easier. "You're warm enough, though," Methos said, and then picked up Duncan's hand from where it rested against Methos' heart. He kissed each of the knuckles and then let the hand rest against his throat. "Let's go inside," Methos said, finally.

"No arguments here," MacLeod said, kissing him one more time. Methos led the way, pulling MacLeod's arm with him. But once he got into the bed, Methos simply curled up and went to sleep. MacLeod watched him sleep,

The next morning, Methos woke up alone in the barge. He finally pushed out of bed and climbed to his feet. He wasn't quite hungry, but staggered to the kitchen to find some of the coffee he could smell. He stepped into a sunbeam and froze, feeling the sun on his skin. He closed his eyes against it like a cat, and quietly swayed back and forth in the light. He sighed, wondering if he could curl up in it and catch a nap before MacLeod got back from his run.

The warning came, and Methos didn't open his eyes as the door opened and closed.

"What a sight to come home to," MacLeod whispered, stepping up into the beam.

Methos leaned slightly back against him, and the heat from MacLeod's body was almost as good as the sun itself. It rapidly became even better as MacLeod began kissing the back of his neck and running his hands down Methos' flanks. Methos groaned. With the sudden rush of hot blood in his system, the sunbeam was almost too hot, but he didn't complain as his skin began prickling. This. This is why he stuck around. No question about it.

"Methos?" MacLeod whispered in his ear, bringing his hands to rest on the flat of Methos' belly, inches away from Methos' erection.

"Yes?" Methos asked, hardly having breath left to say that one word. MacLeod's hand slipped down and undid his jeans. MacLeod laughed softly and slowly began working his way up and down Methos' cock. Methos squeezed his eyes shut as the sensation from his groin shifted from pleasant to very needy.

"I think I want my first favour," MacLeod whispered, licking his ear.

Oh, Methos was all for that. He groaned, raising his arms over his head and caressing the back of MacLeod's neck. "Anything," he whispered.

"Anything?" MacLeod asked, quietly. "It's a bit...filthy."

Methos grinned; the morning kept getting better. "Oh, good," he said.

"And it probably will be a bit hard on you."

"MacLeod, it's hard on me already."

"Then you won't mind?"

"Mind what?" Methos asked. He was beginning to feel very slightly annoyed, along with still being incredibly horny.

MacLeod moved against him, and Methos could feel his cock move against the sweatpants material.

"Cleaning up the barge. It's dirty," MacLeod whispered.

The problem was Duncan kept his voice in the soft, soothing whisper he had used for the other parts of the conversation. His words didn't register right away, and when they did, Methos thought he'd made a mistake. In the meantime, MacLeod continued his attentions to Methos' now very, very needy erection.

"Hey!" he protested, good mood dying. He pushed away. "That is not part of the deal."

"Oh, yes. It was. I never made any mention of the content of the requests, and you didn't specify at the time of our agreement. Which means, my darling, the bucket is in the closet, and I want to see you on your knees."

Methos felt his face drain of blood. "You're kidding, right? This is a joke? Good God, MacLeod. You can't tell me that you are going to waste an entire request for--" Methos stopped talking as MacLeod walked away and sat down on the couch. Methos' mouth dropped open as Duncan calmly picked up the morning paper and began reading the front page.

Duncan looked up as if surprised to see Methos still not cleaning. "I want you to get scrubbing, Methos," MacLeod said, and his grin got worse. Methos stalked off to the closet and pulled out the cleaning bucket, slamming it shut. He glanced back to the newspaper MacLeod still hid behind and opened the door to slam it again. Still nothing. Methos felt like spitting.

"Just a second," MacLeod called.

Methos relaxed. He knew MacLeod wasn't serious. He had turned around to yell at the Scot for taking it too far when he saw the evil grin. MacLeod was serious. Damn.

"I think you're missing something," MacLeod said.

"What?" Methos demanded, losing patience with the man. Bucket, soap, sponge, bad attitude...he had everything he needed.

"I believe the deal was, I made the request, you have to say, 'yes, Duncan', and do it."

Oh, the sadistic bastard. Why wasn't MacLeod ever this mean in bed? "You're waiting for me to say 'yes, Duncan'?" Methos asked, incredulously.

MacLeod simply nodded.

Methos shook his head, feeling a full out temper tantrum coming on, but then checked himself. He suddenly smiled, angelically. "Yes, Duncan," he said. Duncan was going to regret this.

Duncan picked up the newspaper and made a show of ignoring him.

Methos squared his shoulders, and started on the floor. He half smiled, and worked his shoulder muscles. He could hear the papers rattling. He shifted, moving like a cat on his hands and knees. Methos parted his knees slightly and stretched out to reach. He could hear Duncan's breathing. MacLeod always did like his back. What else was there? Oh, yeah, "Uh," he grunted, reaching a bit further.

"What are you doing?" Duncan demanded.

Methos smiled. "Scrubbing your floor, master. Does it displease you?" he asked, blinking innocently.

Duncan stared at him, and Methos parted his lips, slightly. Methos thought. He smiled and licked his lips.

"Yes, it does," MacLeod said, finally.

Methos sat back over his haunches and placed both palms on his thighs. He felt like grinning, but kept a demure expression on his face. "In what manner?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you be cowering when you ask that?" MacLeod asked.

"Would you like me to be?" Methos asked.

"Actually, I would."

Methos cowered. "In what manner?" he asked.

"What, no "master" this time?"

"MacLeod, you are ruining the mood."

"I can't help it. I was an abolitionist."

"Yeah? Well, get over it." Methos said, "Unless you don't want to..."

"Continue cowering."

"Yes, sir," Methos whispered and lowered his head to hide his smile.

"Now. You missed a spot."

"Did I?" he looked up. "Bad slave," he said. He hoped it wasn't too much of an obvious prompt.

MacLeod looked like he could take it from there.

Methos bared his teeth for a moment. So, maybe it was going to be worth getting on his knees and scrubbing for a few minutes. He should have known Duncan would never humiliate without a purpose. That was Methos' job.

MacLeod cupped his chin, lifting him up and bringing him to the bed. Methos had just opened his mouth to speak when Duncan grabbed him and tripped him, and suddenly, he was over MacLeod's knees. It was a ridiculous position to be in, and his ass was now greatly exposed. He tried to cover it with his hands, but Duncan gathered them both up and held them up high on his upper back in one of his own. Methos groaned as his shoulders were stretched, though not enough to cause any real pain. The anticipation was the worst part. His breath caught in his throat.

The first spank startled him. Methos jerked, but couldn't really go anywhere. It hurt! Not horribly, but Methos was startled to find actual tears of pain in his eyes. Duncan's hand was that strong. "Hey!" he protested.

"You wanted this," MacLeod said completely without pity.

"I didn't want it quite so hard," Methos whined. He put his arms out to push up, but MacLeod pinned him down by the back of his neck. Sudden panic flared up as he realized that Duncan was enjoying himself.

And the second blow was just sneaky. He yelped. MacLeod waited for him to say something, and when Methos managed to keep his mouth shut, Duncan began rubbing some of the sting away through the denim. Methos put his head down on the bed, going completely limp so that Duncan's gentle circular motion went straight to his cock through his deliciously tight jeans. It took a lot of willpower not to move his hips with the motion; MacLeod was obviously waiting for that.

MacLeod finally stopped the rubbing and started to press Methos down, pinning him to MacLeod's lap. Methos stayed, but the pressure on his cock was aggravating. He shifted slightly to adjust and was smacked again.

"Ow!"

Whack.

"Stop it!"

Another one.

"MacLeod!"

Whack again.

"Ouch!"

The last one hit him on the other cheek. His back bowed, but he managed to bite his tongue. His spanked bum really, really hurt, and he could feel the heat from MacLeod's handprints. But then the maddening rub was back, and he didn't want to know what would happen if he accidently came on Duncan's lap. He doubted the Scot would ever let him forget it. This was not what he had had in mind when he first encouraged the game.

MacLeod's hand pressed into him, rocking him back and forth harder. Methos gasped, gritting his teeth. The contrast of the heat, pain,and MacLeod's sudden gentleness on his nerves was not a good thing. "Duncan, please," he whispered, softly, cringing for real this time.

The hand stopped, and he winced, waiting. At least the fear was killing some of the pressure from his cock. Either that, or it was being overridden. He shifted against Duncan's lap to help, and then readied himself for the next slap. It didn't happen. "MacLeod?" he whispered. Why hadn't he seen this sadist streak in the Scot before he thought to teach MacLeod a new game?

"Take off your jeans," Duncan ordered. His voice was still harsh, but the Scot's finger ran up his spine half an inch from the beginning of his jeans, and Methos couldn't help the shudder.

Methos sat up and was surprised that he could do so with only minimal shaking. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off, dumping them on to the floor. He moved to return to his former position, but Duncan stopped him, lifting Methos' chin and kissing him gently. That was just cruel. He felt MacLeod's breath on his cheek, for only a heartbeat.

"Do you want me to stop?" Duncan asked, quietly. His hand strayed down to Methos' erection and lightly ran his hand over it.

Two seconds of that, and Methos knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself from coming. MacLeod must have realized it, too, because he stopped the caress. Methos considered ending the spanking, but he knew MacLeod that would never hurt him too seriously and that he would never be cruel about it. Besides, hidden behind the concern in the Scot's eyes was a glint of enjoyment. Methos would never deny his lover sport. Methos sighed loudly and climbed back where he had been. He even made a show of covering his ass with his hands again.

MacLeod removed them without commenting on the attempt. "You have such a cute red bottom," he said, instead.

That stung worse than the last slap. It had been a long time since anyone had described his ass as being cute, or anything like. He began to blush, and to counter it he deliberately moved against Duncan's thigh.

Duncan only spanked him twice, hard.

The sound of flesh on flesh was sharp in the small space, and it really hurt. Methos' grunt of pain turned into a groan as Duncan immediately began rubbing the tender, red flesh. "Did that hurt?" he asked.

Methos rubbed his cheek against the bedspread. His entire body ached from the need. "Yes," he hissed, almost choking on it.

"Would you like me to stop?" MacLeod's voice was concerned. Methos loved him for it.

He closed his eyes, hook his head, wondering how many more he could take. It had nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the position of his cock against Duncan's body. Suddenly, he wanted to be fucked and thrust his hips again to hurry the game along.

Whack. Methos grunted again, but turned his head into the mattress so that the blanket absorbed most of the sound. He very carefully reached back so he wouldn't touch his butt, and groped MacLeod through his slacks. He was rock hard, too, and didn't seem to mind Methos' hand all that much. 

Methos was about to suggest ending it soon when he felt Duncan's hand working on the nape of his neck.

"Last one," MacLeod whispered.

Methos ran his hands across the bed and gripped onto the blanket. He had been expecting a love-tap, but instead got the hardest blow of the evening. He yelped in pain, but Duncan's curse was louder.

"What are you complaining about?" Methos snapped. He got off MacLeod's lap and began rubbing on his very hot tush. Ow! He tried to crane around so he could see how red it was before it begun to heal, but couldn't quite see.

"That hurt my hand," Duncan complained, shaking his hand in the air.

"Are you expecting my bum to apologize?"

"That's cute. The way you say 'my bum'. Say it again."

Methos had enough of being cute. He turned around, stretching out on the bed on his belly. He parted his legs, stretching out. "No," he said, hugging a pillow.

Duncan almost hurt himself jumping out of his pants. There was a moment of awkwardness as he lubricated his cock, and then Methos felt his leg being lifted. He moaned as MacLeod slid inside him slowly and then came to a rest, back to chest.

Methos felt Duncan's chuckle as much as he heard it. "What?" he asked, voice only slightly strained.

"You. It's like I'm making love to fresh baked bread," MacLeod whispered, running a hand down Methos still warm cheeks.

"You Scots should not be left alone in kitchens," Methos said, and then cringed. "Please don't hit me."

But MacLeod only laughed and gently began moving inside him. Methos pressed his forehead into the pillow, which exposed the back of his neck to MacLeod. Duncan worked his mouth over the knobs of his spine, sucking on each of his vertebra. Duncan gradually sped up so that Methos was being slapped again on the all-but healed redness, but Methos didn't think the top of Duncan's thighs could do as much damage as his hand had. "Please," Methos heard himself say. And that was even before MacLeod found the soft spot behind his ear.

"Oh, god, MacLeod," Methos groaned, unable to take it any more. He came, shuddering, which brought MacLeod off as well. For a moment, Duncan lay over him, and then rolled off on his back. Methos curled up beside him and ignored his pillow in favour of Duncan's arm.

After a while, Methos' heartbeat returned to just its normal thumping in his ribcage. He groaned again, half sitting up, and saw MacLeod's ridiculous expression. "What?" he asked, rubbing his itchy face.

"Nothing," MacLeod said. He was still grinning.

"What?" Methos asked again, but didn't have the energy to torture it out of MacLeod.

"You've never called my name before."

"What?" Methos asked for the third time, thinking he hadn't heard it correctly.

"You have never called my name before," Duncan repeated, more slowly.

"I have too," Methos said, frowning.

"No, you haven't."

"Really?" Methos cocked his head to one side.

"Really," MacLeod whispered.

Methos kissed MacLeod's lower belly. "Let's go back to my place tonight."

"Why?" Duncan asked, putting both his hands on the back of Methos' head. It wasn't that MacLeod was pushing Methos' head down, but he was most certainly encouraging it. Methos worked his little finger in MacLeod's navel and then broke away, getting out of the bed.

"Because." He forsook his jeans and wandered into the shower. His stomach reminded him while he started the water that he hadn't eaten yet, even as the rest of him tried to suggest going back to bed for another four hours at least. He told the mutinying parts of him to hush and began lathering his body.

MacLeod joined him a moment later and began washing Methos' hair. Methos closed his eyes as the same hands that had caused him so much delicious pain less than an hour ago worked over his scalp. "I love you," he whispered.

Duncan's hands stopped working on him.

"What?" Methos asked, suddenly afraid he had said something wrong.

"It always surprises me when you spontaneously blurt that out. It doesn't seem like you."

Methos relaxed and smiled, twistedly. "Naked in a showerstall with you washing me is hardly spontaneous, MacLeod," he drawled.

MacLeod didn't want to get into an argument over it. Methos felt his head being guided back under the water, and after most of the suds had been rinsed away, MacLeod leaned into him, kissing him as the water poured over both of them. Methos closed his eyes again, but then his stomach rumbled. MacLeod was willing to overlook that, but then Methos began laughing. It was his body's petty revenge for the day-to-day neglect.

"Sorry, I've got to eat and get going. Keep it for tonight."

MacLeod didn't get out of the shower as Methos dressed and stole a mug from the kitchen. He filled it with coffee and took it with him.

@ @

He waited at the apartment until seven and answered the door before MacLeod even had a chance to knock. He was dressed only in jeans and a grin. "I asked the escort agency for a red-head," he said.

"They were all out," MacLeod said, smiling as well. He carried a paper bag in his hands.

"Oh, well." Methos went to shut the door, but MacLeod bullied his way into the apartment and put the bag down. Methos raised his eyebrow. "Act like you own the place, why don't you?"

Methos supposed there were more effective gags than MacLeod's tongue, but at that particular moment it worked as effectively as anything with a ball in it could have. He wrapped his arms around Duncan for just a moment and stayed a bit longer. Finally, he pulled away. "Yes, Duncan," he said, meekly.

MacLeod laughed. "If I knew that was all it took..." he let his voice trail off.

"Eventually, I will desensitize myself, and then your powers will be useless," Methos crossed his arms over his chest. It took a great deal of effort not to grin. MacLeod also managed to keep his face straight, but his eyes were glinting.

Duncan grabbed him again, pulling him into another kiss. This one was slightly longer. "Yes, Duncan," Methos said, again, lowering his eyes. It took so little effort to stroke MacLeod's...ego. He grinned. "What did you bring me?"

"Supplies."

"Supplies?" Methos asked. MacLeod passed over the bag. Methos snatched it from him, taking the bottle of wine out and then the glasses as well. "I think this is an insult. Why do you automatically assume that I don't have wine glasses?"

"Do you?" MacLeod asked.

"That is not the point," Methos said, taking the offered corkscrew as well. "Now hush."

MacLeod held the glasses while he poured. Methos put the bottle down and took the offered glass. With his free hand, he grabbed MacLeod by the wrist. "Come on."

Duncan stopped when he saw the bathroom. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Weeks," Methos said, and then started to light the candles. With his back turned Methos could smile without ruining the mood. It pleased him that MacLeod looked so appreciative of his efforts and he hated sappy moments.

MacLeod moved behind him, kissing the back of Methos' neck as Methos bent over to light the candles on the far side of the tub. Methos relaxed, letting his head tilt forward a little more. "A little to the left," he whispered.

"Like that?" MacLeod whispered, running his hands over Methos' chest.

Methos leaned back into him. "Exactly like that," he whispered, and then sighed.

Methos turned around, inches away from MacLeod's body. He could feel the heat of the man. He began unbuttoning Duncan's silk shirt, pleased that his hands weren't shaking. The silk against MacLeod's skin was beautiful. Methos kissed his shoulder, slipping the shirt off.

MacLeod grabbed Methos' belt-loops. Methos smiled, putting his hands over MacLeod's.

"I'm sorry I made you clean," MacLeod whispered in his ear.

"No, you aren't," Methos whispered back. "Anyway, it pales when compared to what I would have made you do."

"Oh, really. What would you have done to me?" MacLeod asked. Methos felt Duncan's hands unzip his jeans and pulled them down. Methos put his hands on MacLeod's shoulders and stepped out of them. MacLeod took a moment to strip down himself, and then they kissed.

MacLeod's fingers ran up his spine, and Methos couldn't control the shudder. He broke apart, stepping into the tub. MacLeod moved behind him, and Methos turned the taps off with his toes before leaning back against MacLeod. After a few moments, Methos leaned forward as MacLeod picked up the sponge and began scrubbing Methos' back. Methos drew his knees up, resting his elbows on them. Methos sipped from his wine, closing his eyes. The first sips of alcohol on an empty stomach were heady, and between the heat and MacLeod being so close he relaxed entirely.

"You still haven't answered my question," Duncan whispered in his ear.

Methos knew he had better be careful. He was reaching that level of contentment where he had no control over the things he let slip. He smiled, leaning back. Duncan began sponging off his chest, taking the time to kiss his jawbone.

"You would be better off not knowing, MacLeod." "Why is that? You have me imagining the worst."

Methos laughed. "I still owe you five more favours, and I do not want to give you any ideas."

Duncan poured a little of his chilled wine onto Methos' shoulder, and the sudden ice on his skin startled him. Then he felt Duncan's lips licking it up, and he relaxed. Duncan's lips continued even though there couldn't have been a drop of wine left on his body. He smiled with his eyes closed. "No splashing," he whispered.

"What?" Duncan asked.

"No activities in the tub that would cause splashing, please. My landlady will kill me."

Duncan kissed him a final time. "Then I'm done."

"I'm not." Methos said, and leaned against him. MacLeod wrapped his arms around and held him until the water had lost its heat. Then Methos finally stood up and tossed MacLeod a towel. He hadn't realized how tired he was until he actually sat down on the bed.

MacLeod saw it, too. They kissed again, Methos still on the bed and MacLeod standing over him. Methos reached up to pull Duncan down so that he wouldn't have to bend his head so far back, but then Duncan knelt down in front of him.

Neither one of them spoke as Duncan put both hands on Methos' knees and gently parted them. Methos watched the hands travelling up his thighs and still felt oddly detached from it all. MacLeod looked odd in such a submissive role. He inched forward when Duncan's hands caressed the small of his back, asking him to without saying a word.

Skill-wise, Duncan didn't have the years of experience that Methos had, but then no one in the world had that. Duncan showed Methos with his mouth how much he enjoyed the task, though, and the back of his throat was hot and tight; Methos could hardly control the groan. He worked his hands over the beautiful muscles of his lover's back, barely controlling the need to rake his nails down it.

The only sound in the room was the muffled sucking sounds and Methos' occasional whimpers as Duncan pulled away long enough so that the tightening feeling in his balls dispersed. MacLeod's hair was wet from the bath, and silky against his thighs as it teased his skin. He ran his fingers through it; the black looked so sexy again his skin.

MacLeod's hand covered his mouth, caressing his chin and cheek briefly before running his thumb over Methos' lip. Methos parted his lips, and Duncan entered his mouth with his forefinger. Methos let him for a moment and then bit down. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to immobilize it while he tortured the callused fingertip with his tongue. Duncan pulled away for a second, then pressed his palm against Methos' lips. Methos licked it once, and Duncan pulled back. With his moistened palm, Duncan began running up the length of Methos' cock while he nuzzled Methos' balls. Methos hissed, throwing his head back. MacLeod swallowed him again, rubbing his forehead against Methos' belly.

Methos grabbed MacLeod's head, pulling it as close to his body as he could. He cried out and came hard. His body shook from the force of it. MacLeod took him backwards, and they lay together. Methos curled up on his side, and didn't mind as Duncan lay right beside him. In fact...he really liked it.

Methos woke up, surprised to be in his own bed, but then saw Duncan beside him. He half sat up, looking down on the sleeping Duncan, and considered letting the Scot sleep. It wasn't often that Methos woke up first. He stretched out along side, watching Duncan's chest rise and fall.

Duncan finally woke up, almost throwing Methos off him. "Oh, Christ. Sorry."

Methos went back to where he had been. Duncan glanced at the time and groaned. "I've got to get back."

"MacLeod?" Methos asked. He slept so well his body still felt thick and heavy and he shook his head to clear some of the sleep from it.

"I have to make a phone call."

"I have a phone here," Methos said, slightly testy.

MacLeod took it and watched as Methos searched through his closet to find clean clothing. He pulled on a pair of jeans and turned around to see MacLeod watching him. "Huh?" he asked, slightly distracted.

"Nothing."

Methos stretched, feeling the strain on his shoulder muscles. He worked out the kinks in his neck, and Duncan's kiss on his shoulder startled him. He flinched away. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"Stubble. Very unattractive, Mac," Methos made a face at all his remaining shirts and remembered he had brought most of his favourites to the barge. He shook his head. He was kidding himself if he still thought he lived in the apartment.

MacLeod left him still staring into his closet, and Methos wondered if he had hurt Duncan's feelings. He let himself into the bathroom and jumped up on the counter. MacLeod had already found his travel shaving kit, since his was at the barge, and was lathering his cheeks up. Methos took the razor from him.

"Let me do that," Methos said, quietly.

There was a small amount of concern in Duncan's eyes. Methos kissed his forehead. "Relax, you stubborn man. I've been shaving a bit longer than you have been," he whispered.

Duncan smiled. Methos kept the skin taut and slowly worked the razor over Duncan's cheek. One swipe, and the golden skin emerged from the white foam on either side. Methos tested to make sure there was no trace of the stubble with his tongue. He ignored the slight shaving cream taste. "Seems to work just fine," he whispered. He shifted forward so that he could wrap his legs around MacLeod's waist.

He worked quickly after that and half smiled as MacLeod's breathing increased. "Stay very still," Methos warned, finishing the other cheek. He tilted MacLeod's head back.

Methos shaved quickly until the last of the cream was gone. He half turned around, pleased that Duncan kept his throat exposed as Methos ran a face cloth under the hot water. He wiped MacLeod's face. "There. Is that satisfactory?" Methos asked, lowering his eyes.

Duncan reached up and touched his cheek. "Somewhat," he allowed. He was smiling.

Methos kissed Duncan's cheek, working his lips over the smooth, silken skin. He sucked on it, running his tongue down to MacLeod's mouth. They kissed again, and Methos closed his eyes as MacLeod probed him. "Methos?" Duncan asked, pulling away.

"Yes?" Methos asked, quietly. He tightened his grip on MacLeod's hips. He grinned as MacLeod pressed into him and against his cock. "Please," he whispered.

"Let me," MacLeod pressed his forehead against Methos'. MacLeod undid Methos' jeans and yanked them off him. "Would you consider switching to sweat pants?" Duncan whispered.

"Not even for you, MacLeod," Methos drawled. They kissed again, and then Duncan grabbed his ass and slid him to the edge of the counter. Methos reached down, trying to open a drawer.

"What?" MacLeod asked, still nuzzling his neck.

"There should be hand cream in there. Anything. Please," Methos groaned. MacLeod dug through until he found the cream. Methos jerked as Duncan thrust into him without warning. "Ow...hold on," Methos winced as the pain shot through him from the bad angle. He bit his lip and adjusted his body slightly. The pain went away instantly. "Okay," he said. He shifted forward.

Duncan didn't move inside him. "Are you?"

Methos smiled. He wrapped his legs around Mac, locking his ankles together. "I'm fine," he whispered, kissing MacLeod's neck. "Fuck me."

Duncan did not have to be told twice. Twice Methos groaned as MacLeod slammed him against the counter. His pelvic bone hit hard both times, but he gritted his teeth and took it.

MacLeod grunted under the strain. Methos kissed him and was surprised at the violence with which MacLeod responded. Methos ran his hands over MacLeod's body as he slammed against him, trembling as MacLeod's cock pushed up deeper inside him. Methos wrapped his arms around him, trapping his cock between them. He squeezed his eyes shut and came as he felt MacLeod's teeth on his neck.

MacLeod stayed inside him for a moment longer. MacLeod tensed for a second, and Methos swept the sweaty hair off MacLeod's shoulder to kiss the skin underneath. MacLeod's whole body slammed against him twice and then shuddered. Methos reared up, gripping MacLeod's shoulder.

A moment later MacLeod pulled out of him, but not away. Methos pressed against his sweaty body for a long moment, just so that he could hear MacLeod's heartbeat and feel it next to his. "Hey," he finally said.

"What?" MacLeod asked, kissing his shoulder one more time.

"That was new," Methos said, unlocking his ankles. MacLeod stayed against him until Methos pushed him away, lightly. "Thank you," he whispered.

MacLeod glanced down. "I suppose I should have a shower."

Methos smiled, reaching down to MacLeod's lower belly and scooped up his cum.

"I'd lick you up," he said, smiling slightly. Methos went to clean his hand when MacLeod's fingers came over his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Licking my hand clean."

"Oh, no, you aren't."

Methos' smile grew. "What am I doing then?" he asked.

"Watching me," MacLeod said, bringing Methos' hand to his mouth. Duncan's tongue was hot and pink, and quickly ran over his palm. Methos shuddered, over both the contact and the strength of the hand over his, holding him in place. MacLeod worked his tongue between his knuckles, and then up his individual fingers.

Finally Methos pulled reluctantly away. "I think it's clean," he whispered.

"Are you sure?"

Methos kissed him, pressing his tongue against MacLeod's teeth. He could barely taste himself, but it was enough. "I need a shower, too."


End file.
